


Resolution

by sapphyr_raven



Series: Rebellion, Resignation, Revelation and Resolution [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: Abandonment, Age Difference, Blangst, F/F, F/M, Klaine, M/M, Other, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:11:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2003346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphyr_raven/pseuds/sapphyr_raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuing from the events of 'Revelation' - Blaine is going to have to make some tough choices, Kurt is in hospital, and Douglas is about to feel the effects of success, failure and Family...</p><p> </p><p>Series Description:<br/>AU from season 4 - 'Glease'. Blaine and Kurt never made-up - Kurt, hurt by Blaine's transgression, cut himself off from his old life and refused any and all further contact leaving Blaine lost and broken in Lima. This is the tale of how rebellion, resignation, and revelations eventually led to their resolution. Or - how Kurt saved Blaine from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fragments

##  Resolution

_How few there are who have courage enough to own their faults, or resolution enough to mend them._

-          _Benjamin Franklin_

###  Fragments

            They are all there when he arrives, shoes squeaking and sliding on the sterile linoleum, but he does not see them.  Blaine heads straight to the reception desk, mindless of the queue, and catches the attention of the first person he sees - he really must look manic if the woman’s wide eyes are anything to go by.

            ‘Kurt Hummel: he was brought in not long ago.  He was attacked.’  Blaine forces himself to breathe in an attempt to remain civil – snapping at the poor woman will get him nowhere.  

            ‘Are you family?’

            ‘Yes.’  Reflex. 

The woman is small and mousey – probably why he subconsciously singled her out in the first place.  She glances at him then down at the monitor in front of her, then back up at him. 

            ‘Name, please?’

            ‘Blaine Anderson.’

            ‘Relation?’

            ‘He’s family.’  Rachel’s voice pipes in from beside him – he had not even noticed her presence.  The nurse’s attitude changes once the brunette is beside him, and Blaine forcibly tries to ignore Rachel because if the nurse’s reaction is anything to go by – Rachel has already been pestering the poor woman, and probably none too politely.

            ‘I’m sorry but I can’t give out patient information unless you are blood-relations or listed as an emergency contact on the system.’  The tone is clipped now and directed at Rachel.  Blaine puts out an arm to gesture to the fiery brunette to back off, but she is oblivious.

            ‘Please - just tell me if he’s alive?  Is he alive?’  He adds honey to his voice but it is thinly concealing the raw panic in his lungs.  It is enough to grab the nurse’s attention and their eyes lock; flustering and melting her slightly.

            ‘I’m sorry I can’t…I don’t have that information.  Um…’

            ‘Please.’ 

He feels like he is a light beam splintering out into a million fractals.  He scrabbles desperately beneath the surface for _something_ , _anything_ that will help convince…. _Amanda_ – her name badge glints at him.  He only has one chance at this.

            ‘Amanda – I’m sorry; you must have to deal with crazed friends and relatives all the time.’  They both know he is apologising for whatever Rachel said earlier.  ‘I’m betting the last thing you need right now is another loved one shouting at you when all you’re doing is your job.  I just… _please_.  Please could you tell me whether he’s alive?  His dad’s in Ohio – or probably on a plane right now.  He…he doesn’t have anyone else.  I’ll go and sit quietly and wait after, I promise.  Just…please let me know whether he is alive?’

‘I’ll see if I can find a doctor.’   She nods her head slightly before disappearing in the direction of what Blaine presumes to be the wards.

He should turn to face Rachel but he is _terrified_ that if he lets go of the counter he will crumple to the ground and then what help will he be?  He focuses instead on the industrial-sized bottle of hand sanitizer in front of him and breathes – it feels like an accomplishment.

            ‘They wouldn’t believe I was his sister.’  Rachel’s voice is hoarse now he cares to listen to it.

He does not look up but nods slightly and hopes it will be enough.  He does not trust himself to speak.  Not until he knows Kurt is alive.

The non-silence of the waiting area is cloying: children screaming in the fever of pain and play, the garbled murmur of conversation interspersed with great groans of agony and excited gibbering.  Hornets swarming – angry and agitated; the tension is its own being composed of the copper of blood, tangy bile, and pine-fresh.  They are all miniscule forest creatures, skittish of the sharp _squeak_ of footfall, the tinny tannoy, and the rasping rustle of paper on clipboards.  He jumps when a hand touches his shoulder, his thoughts scattering.

            ‘Mr. Anderson?’

The man before him is familiar – mid-fifties and balding, with a voice like dust.  Blaine nods dumbly.

            ‘Please come with me.’

            ‘Rachel – stay with Artie and Mercedes.’  Blaine actually looks at her then – her mouth is open in mid-argument but it snaps closed and she nods tersely.  She looks wrecked but he cannot feel sorry for her – he cannot feel _anything_ else in that moment, he simply has no more room to compartmentalise the flurry of numb panic, guilt, and _sick_ that he feels, let alone sympathy (or is it empathy? Or frustration?  Or anger?) for another.  He does not spare her a second glance as he follows the doctor through a set of wide double doors.  Grey walls and white corridors and stained grey floors marred by the scuffed slash of offensively bright, coloured lines – primary and primal: red and yellow and blue.  It is a maze but he has no intention of leaving so he does not try to recall the path they take.  Instead, the fake pine scent of the antiseptic used to disinfect the floors inescapably invades his senses and he focuses on the simple task of trying to breathe through his mouth; a little gulp to down enough oxygen so as not to pass out or throw up. 

His distraction is made obvious when he is almost mown down by a bed manned by two green orderlies – the corridors remind him of an ocean: darting tropical fish in brightly coloured scrubs, prowling white shark-doctors, and the glide of the stingray beds.  Before him the doctor swims on ahead and Blaine picks up his pace so as not to lose him in the bone white-grey of the coral corridors.

            ‘I thought it was you.’  The voice is quiet, and dry as an old tome, and it takes Blaine back to a panelled room and a table with waltzing waiters – a hand in his own ( _Douglas_ – his mind supplies) firm and reassuring – and the glint of silverware in dazzling green eyes.

 

            _‘Adrian Richmond – this is Blaine Anderson.  Blaine is at Dalton.’_

_‘Pleasure to meet you, Blaine.’_

_‘Likewise.’_

_A look had passed between Douglas and Adrian that Blaine had been unable to place.  Douglas’ grip on Blaine’s hand had tightened slightly and Adrian’s eyes had flickered down at the movement like a buffeted flame._

_‘So, what brings you to New York, Blaine?’_

_The real question is thinly veiled and floods Blaine’s sense-memory with coffee and an echo:_

_“_ So, how do we know Sebastian?”

_He shudders involuntarily._

_‘Blaine is a school friend of my nephew’s.  He’s visiting for the holidays to look at prospective colleges.’_

_‘Good.  Good.’  Adrian had nodded at Douglas’ save and another_ look _had passed between the two older men.  ‘Welcome to The Club, then young man.  No doubt I’ll be seeing more of you around here then come the summer.’_

_Particles of speech in an egg-timer filled with sand and subtext._

            ‘Dr. Richmond.  Of course.’

The other man nods, eyes flickering over Blaine like a lizard’s tongue, before settling back on the clipboard before him.  Blaine finds himself irrationally furious with the grubby plastic-covered card – it holds the answers he wants and he balls his fists in an attempt to prevent himself from grabbing it from the other man’s hands. 

            ‘How are you finding the City?  I’ve not seen you at The Club recently.’

Blaine’s fingernails bite into his palms and it takes every _ounce_ of remaining self-awareness he possesses not to snap the man’s neck in twain for daring to _chitchat_ when Kurt could be…

            ‘Fine.  Busy as you can imagine.’

            ‘Columbia for Law wasn’t it?’

            ‘Yes, sir.’  He has no time or desire to discuss something so utterly trivial, but Blaine’s clipped tone seems to pass by the other man.

Adrian leads Blaine through yet another set of yawning double-doors and down another corridor marked by a yellow line.

            _Follow the yellow brick road…_

            ‘So how do you know _my_ patient, Blaine?’

            ‘He’s a very dear friend.’

            ‘Like Douglas?’

He chooses not to respond and Adrian makes no further comment before taking another turn down a much smaller corridor.  This pathway is too narrow for a bed and Blaine feels like he is being snared but he follows anyway – it is not like he has a choice.  Adrian leads them into a private room and situates himself behind the imposing mahogany desk occupying the majority of the book-lined chamber.  Blaine stands slightly behind the small plastic chair obviously meant for patients, loathe to sit when his nerves are on fire.  The stench of _dust_ and vanilla is overwhelming – the air dry and over-conditioned to the point of cotton wool.

            ‘I thought we were going to see Kurt?’

Green flames glance up at him as if only just noticing that Blaine was in the room.

            ‘Goodness no, Blaine.  No.  He’s having an x-ray at the moment.’

            ‘So, he’s alive.’

            ‘Yes.’  Adrian looks amused, and Blaine’s body wants nothing more than to release taut muscles to jelly but something in Adrian’s serpentine smile screams _wrong_ at him.  Adrian looks far too _amused_ for Blaine’s liking.

            ‘How long will you be keeping him here?’

            ‘I suspect he has a fracture above his right eye socket…’

The list of injuries blur together and each connects with ghosts of his own beating like ice rain in the stifling room - his vision blacks around the edges but he forces himself to keep listening.  _Keep breathing._   Though he can _hear-feel_ the rush of blood in his ears.  Though his vision has reduced to pin-points in a swamp of cloying _blackness_. 

            ‘When can I see him?’ 

He barely registers the flicker of anger that twists Adrian’s features but Blaine had _needed_ to make him stop. 

            ‘Are you alright?  You look pale…’ 

The feigned concern grates against Blaine’s fractured consciousness and he nods tersely, swallowing sharply as his vision tilts then rights itself.  _Breathe in….out….in….out…_

He barely registers the other man as he makes a call – probably to see when his minions would be finished jabbing Kurt with needles and blasting him with x-rays - he only hears Adrian’s instruction to follow him.  Blaine does not recall the walk to the tiny room with the greydoor, but the image of Kurt lying unconscious and bruised, and so _tiny_ on that sterile metal rectangle of stark white and blue, is etched forever into his mind.  His entire consciousness zooms in on that insignificant, yet monstrous, bed and its occupant.  At some point Adrian leaves, but Blaine does not register when or even acknowledge the other man at all.  Instead, he simply crumples into the chair beside the broken and battered version of Kurt – _his_ Kurt.  His eyes are unable to take-in the whole and instead flicker from injury to injury, cataloguing and classifying:

            _Split lip – possibly bad enough to scar.  He’ll hate that.  Or maybe he’ll love it and he’ll wear it like a badge of honour.  Every time I see it I’ll remember_ this.  _At least I’ll get to see it healed…_

_Bruise to eye socket – bad.  That one must be the fracture.  He’ll be in pain for a while with that.  Weeks to heal and for the bruising to fade.  May leave a permanent darker patch of skin...  Worst of his injuries, thank God._

_What was he thinking?  Was he even thinking at all?  God, Kurt…when you wake up I’m going to…  I’m going to…_

_Nose…doesn’t look broken.  That’s good.  Mine took a long time to feel_ right _.  It made me self-conscious of my pronunciation for a while afterwards…  I was ashamed about it actually…  At Dalton – people asked how I broke it and I said it was a sporting injury.  It is odd how much kudos you get for having broken something doing sports – as if that is_ manly.  _It wasn’t a complete lie anyway – a jock did break it for me…_

_You never asked though – I think you guessed how I broke it.  I’m glad they didn’t break yours though…  Your nose is perfect, Kurt - I love the way it curves up a little at the end.  I know you hate it, but I love it._

_Various bruises on your upper arm – they look like fingers.  I’m going to_ kill _them.  I am going to hunt them down and murder them in their sleep.  No.  I am going to find them, and then I am going to replicate every one of your injuries on them.  I_ promise _you.  God, Kurt.  I am so sorry.  I am_ so, so _sorry.  I should have been at that damned restaurant with you.  I should have been by your side.  We could have taken them on together...  I’d have made you run to get help though…  It should be me where you are.  Your pain should be my pain._

 _I’m a terrible friend, Kurt.  I was caught up in myself and my own humiliation…  Damn, Rachel.  She shouldn’t have left you alone at that time of night.  It’s not like you live in a good neighbourhood.  You should have known better, Kurt.  You_ knew _what happened to Russ and you live in the same area.  You knew…  I am going to…._

_Breathe, Blaine.  Breathe.  Focus…_

_Cuts – probably from glass on the floor of the alleyway.  They’ll heal alright.  Need to ask someone whether they gave you a shot for tetanus…  None look too deep thankfully._

_No breaks.  So that’s good.  You won’t have to re-learn how to use anything.  No physio to go through…  You’d hate physio.  Unless they gave you a hot instructor… I swear mine_ enjoyed _the pain she put me through._

 _They hit you in the head, Kurt.  You could have_ died. _You could have died alone in an alley and I would never have forgiven myself.  You know that?  I…  It was supposed to be you and I against the world…remember?  We talked about it all the time at McKinley.  Do you remember you told me how you saw the future?_

“Just like in ‘ _The Notebook_ ’, I’m sitting in a nursing home talking endlessly about my high school sweetheart, my first love, going on and on about every little detail as if they matter.  Only in my version, he’s there with me, telling me I should shut up so he can watch The American Cinematheque Salute to J-Lo.”

_I wanted that so badly...  I’m so sorry.  I don’t know how to fix this…  I don’t know how to stop loving you._

_I’m never saying goodbye to you either, Kurt, but I don’t know how to let you go… and I need to.  You deserve so much better…_

-+-

 

            Burt’s face is thunder and Blaine cowers reflexively; he does not have the strength to stand up to the force that is the senior Hummel. 

            ‘What in the hell happened, Blaine?’

            ‘I…I don’t know for sure.  They found him in…an alley.’  The words trip and stumble from his mouth as if disconnected from his brain.  Blaine drops his eyes – he is unworthy; a failure.  He misses Burt’s expression, but tenses in anticipation of the inevitable backlash.  ‘He was attacked…’

            ‘For being gay.’  It is not a question, but Blaine nods anyway, flinching at the tone.  ‘God, look at his beautiful face.’

The sudden softness of the other man’s voice catches Blaine off guard and his eyes dart up in response. 

            ‘I’m so sorr-‘

            ‘Don’t you dare apologise to me, Blaine.  Don’t you dare!  This is _not_ your fault, okay?  This is on those hateful, prejudiced bastards who attacked _him_ , not you.  If you’d have been there I’d be here for the two of you rather than just for him, so don’t you even spare another thought on wishin’ you’d have been there because it wouldn’t have turned out any different.’

The tears spill then – part shock, part relief, part pity, part exhaustion - and they keep falling and he _hates_ them because they are weak and self-serving and for himself as much as they are for Kurt.  His body betrays him, and he wishes Burt would just blame him.  Wishes Burt would have shouted at him – he could have handled that.  Not this…this shattering slap of understanding…this clash of kindness. 

Burt’s hug crushes him and it is then that he feels the other man collapse a little.   He can only imagine the fear that must have consumed Burt – not knowing as he caught the next flight to New York…the cab ride over to the hospital.  Blaine knows that fear - not as keenly as Burt - not after Kurt’s mom, and then Finn - but enough to find the strength to hold the other man upright.  Enough to know with sudden clarity that he _can_ do something – he can do this. 

-+-

 

            ‘Where’s Blaine?’

            ‘I made him leave to get a coffee and something to eat.’

Kurt dips his chin a fraction, and Burt notes the crease that forms between Kurt’s eyes. 

            ‘How’d you know he was here anyway?’ 

            ‘I heard him talking to me I think…it’s weird.  I kind of just _knew_ though.  It’s all fuzzy…’  Kurt’s features soften slightly.

            ‘Painkillers will do that to you.’

            ‘Yeah.’

Burt twists his baseball cap between his hands and glances down.  He takes a moment to breathe; now that they have had it out with each other the air feels a little clearer (though still statically charged) and Burt feels the knot in his chest, that had been there since the NYPD called him, loosen fraction by fraction.

            ‘Dad?’

            ‘Yeah, kiddo?’

            ‘Thanks for looking out for him.’

            ‘He’s family – you know that as well as I do.  You’re just both pig-headed.’

            ‘We’re _friends_ , dad.’

            ‘Yeah.  I saw your friends – they don’t look like Blaine looked.’

            ‘Not now, okay?’

Burt wants to shake him – to wake him up – to make him open his eyes and see the obvious, but then his eyes drift over his child’s features and he feels the urgency ebb away.  Kurt looks tired, but his eyes are full of fire.  _Yes, he is definitely my son._   Burt takes a mental step back – learning to do that: to let his only child take his own steps, make his own mistakes…that is the hardest thing he has ever tried to do.  It was supposed to get easier – things get easier with practice don’t they?  Not this.  Never this.  He sighs and rubs a work-rough hand over his face in a suggestion of acquiescence.

            ‘Bill Anderson was in the shop on Monday.’  Burt is aware his choice of topic has a familiar theme, but he cannot completely admit defeat.  _Yet another thing him and me have in common_ , he muses.

            ‘Oh?  He enquire after his _son_?’  Kurt’s eye (the one not swollen shut) is a pin point of frozen fire.

            _Friends indeed._

            ‘Kurt, there are always two sides to a story, you know that.’

            ‘They kicked him out, dad.  He made a choice they disagreed with, so they kicked him out.  Actions speak louder than words and all that.’

The older Hummel sighs slightly.

            ‘People make mistakes, Kurt.  Us parents – we are not infallible, you know?  And Blaine – he can be kind of dramatic, unless you hadn’t noticed.  Something else the two of you share.’

            ‘So, what?  They want to apologise?  It’s been _months_.’

            ‘Yes it has.  But Bill’s as stubborn as an ox and they’re a pretty uptight family – he’s been waiting for Blaine to apologise.’

            ‘For _what_?  Making his own life-choices?’

            ‘Kurt – I’m not defending Bill here.’

            ‘Sounds an awful lot like you are.’

            ‘Come on, buddy.  You know me better than that.’

Kurt huffs a breath and Burt gently puts a hand on his son’s shoulder conscious of accidently touching a bruise that may be hidden beneath the ugly hospital gown.

            ‘I know, dad.  I’m sorry.  I just…’

            ‘You care for him.’

            ‘He’s my best friend and I’m only just getting him back, but he’s so _broken_.  It’s like something sapped everything away since we broke up and now he’s just this fragile shell and it’s…’

            ‘Wrong.  I know.’

            ‘I don’t know what to do.’

            ‘Can you fix him?’

            ‘I don’t think I can…’

            ‘Exactly.  Knowing you – you tried some elaborate not-so-subtle scheme and it backfired?’  Burt grins slightly as the tell-tale blush creeps over the un-blemished slithers of Kurt’s skin.  ‘Thought as much.  Look, Kurt.  You care for him.  It doesn’t take a genius to see that.  I think the Martians can see how much you care for him from up there on Mars… but he’s not a project.  You can’t fix him, Kurt.  You can’t fix people.  He needs to work some stuff out for himself and all you can do – and I know this is going to kill you – is be there for him and let him work stuff out for himself.  Life’s complicated and he’s painted himself deep into a corner.  He’s the only one who can get himself out and it is going to be messy.  Someone’s gonna end up hurt and I can’t promise you that it will all work out.’

Kurt purses his lips and flinches as the cut splits again where it has started to heal.  Burt sighs.

            ‘I’m not trying to lecture you here…  I just…I love you, Kurt.  You are right, you know.  You are my son.  And when we Hummels love – we love with every fibre of our being.  You want my advice?  You gotta be honest with him – completely – don’t pussy-foot around anything, okay?  No being vague either.  You need to be honest and direct with him so he knows _exactly_ where you both stand, and then you need to give him space and accept whatever decision he comes to.’

            ‘I know.  You’re right.’

            ‘Good.’

            ‘I love you, Dad.’

            ‘Love you too, Kurt.’  His son’s soft skin feels like _home_ to Burt as he gently rubs a large thumb over the back of Kurt’s smooth hand, careful to avoid the area around his IV cannula.  ‘I’m gonna go make sure Blaine’s not collapsed somewhere in the corridor.’  Burt squeezes Kurt’s hand lightly before tearing himself away.  ‘Get some rest now, okay?  Back in a minute.’

 

-+-

 

            ‘It has been _hours_ , Blaine!  Hours!  You didn’t once think we might want to know how he was?  You somehow manage to get special treatment to actually see him and you didn’t even _think_ about how this was affecting _me_!’ 

Rachel has been shouting at him since Burt had arrived and basically forced him to go and freshen up.  Oddly, it is Mercedes who intervenes on Blaine’s behalf, and Blaine feels like he really needs to get her a gift-basket or something because the blood in his head is pounding against his skull with every beat of his heart and his physically and emotionally exhausted.  He is not sure what she actually says to the brunette, but the result is that Rachel stops shouting at him, so Blaine counts that as a win. 

At some point someone (probably Artie) had slipped a paper cup of machine-coffee into his hands, but he cannot bring himself to smell it, let alone taste it when Kurt cannot, so he holds it numbly as it cools, his eyes firmly closed, head resting against the wall behind him.

            ‘Blaine?’  Mercedes’ voice is soft and compassionate, and in a way it is a thousand times worse than being shouted at because Mercedes used to be Kurt’s best friend.  Mercedes knew Kurt before any of the rest of them – Rachel was right – they _deserved_ to know sooner.  He should have fought to get them into the room to see Kurt.  Disgusted with himself, he fights down another wave of nausea.

Gentle fingers prise the cool cup from his tense fingers, then take his hand and hoist him to his feet.

            ‘Come on, Blaine.  I think you need some fresh air.’

Numbly, he follows.

 

The morning air is freezing but it does help settle his stomach.  They stand together in silence, blindly watching patients and their families buzz from vehicles and buses to and from the hospital reception.  His mind is in a whirl and barely keeping up with events but he knows he truly owes Mercedes.

            ‘Thanks.’

            ‘You were looking a bit pale back there.’  Her eyes are soft and kind when Blaine brings himself to meet them.

            ‘I’m sorry for not letting you guys know about Kurt sooner; it was unforgivable and –‘

            ‘- Hey, I get it.  You weren’t exactly in the right frame of mind to be thinking of everyone else back there, Blaine.  It’s not your responsibility to be strong for everyone.  You are allowed to break down.  I mean – you mean a lot to each other…  Kurt is one of my best friends, and Rachel and Artie – we’re family, you know?  Yeah, it would have been good to know how he was sooner, but you’re only human, and it was a shock to all of us.’  She reaches out and takes his hand gently – it is only then that he realises that he had been staring down at the floor.  ‘Look, I know you think you do, but you don’t have to be perfect all the time.’

            ‘Seeing him like that…  I wish it was me and not him.’

            ‘I know.  I think about what’s going on in the world and all the violence and the hate and…I have to believe God has a plan for all of us, because, if He doesn’t then…’

He nods, brow furrowed – his turn to gently squeeze her hand in reassurance.  His reward is a sad smile. 

            ‘Look, Blaine; I don’t know the full story, but it’s pretty clear to me that that boy in there is still in love with you.  And I think what you have together is something truly special and unique and a gift –‘

            ‘-I’m with –‘

            ‘-Douglas.  I know.’  She sighs then, eyes darting upwards as if looking for an answer.  ‘Tell me about him?’

            ‘I…  I don’t deserve him.’

            ‘Why?  Way I see it – you have two men who are head-over-heels for you.  I’d _kill_ for that!  Now, I know at least one of them is pretty special, and I know you – you’re a good person, Blaine.  You tellin’ me that Kurt _and_ Douglas are bad judges of character?’

            ‘No.  It’s…  I just…’  He huffs in frustration.

            ‘You don’t want to hurt either of them.  But what you’re doing isn’t just hurting them – it’s hurting you.  So, going back to Our Lord Above – I don’t think He does things by chance.  I’m not saying He let Kurt get hurt to send you a message.  But I believe He has a plan, Blaine.  We just have to figure out what it is.’

 


	2. Slips, Trips, and Falls

### Slips, Trips, and Falls

            Time is relative; the older one gets the more this becomes devastatingly apparent. Days drift by so slowly in youth – hours, minutes, seconds feel like weeks, months, years – entire lifetimes can be lived in imagined worlds over a single afternoon. Yet it never feels long enough, and as the weight of responsibilities and Adulthood bear down there is never enough Time to do everything. A flood of sand; the weeks, months, years trickle through your fingers like hours, minutes, seconds. Regrets pile up like logs and stones, damming your mind and silting up joy with ‘ _I should have_ ’s and ‘ _I wish I’d_ ’s until Happiness seems like a foreign concept – something for _other_ people. Less busy people with less Responsibility; the less Important people. It is a disease – this _Hurrysickness_ of Adulthood, facilitated as it is by the age of Instant Information; the ‘ _I need it Yesterday!’_ s _,_ and _Now Now Now_ s.

Douglas glances again at the clock, his foot tapping subconsciously against the leg of his chair as he waits.

He muses on the currency of Time; recalls days of precious Summer as a boy spent at a desk in his father’s office hand addressing mail to clients in his neatest handwriting. His father had called it ‘Work Experience’, designed to instil a good work-ethic into him and to make him appreciate his pocket money. Instead he merely recalls resentment and jealousy – his mind torturing him with images of friends playing in the freedom-fresh air – the Time-Rich. Those days were the longest of his life, irrevocably intertwined with the vivid taste-smell of the horse-derived glue of the thick envelopes, and the taste of the glossy black licorice wheels his father’s secretary had secreted to him out of sympathy. It disappoints him that he can no longer recall her name – only that she smelt so strongly of roses he could literally _smell_ her approach before he heard her, so dense was the perfumed cloud she swam in. He half expected the Nostalgia of Time to have softened the memory like an abandoned boiled sweet in a long-forgotten pocket…

He glances again at the clock and grimaces.

No – Time can become treacle still, even at his age. Perhaps it slows again as one gets older? Slowing until it finally stops.

He tries not to let his thoughts meander down darker paths plagued with questions but as the sticky seconds stagnate they begin to clot his mind anyway. Douglas sighs and tries to re-focus on the latest report from Project Narcissus, pushing down the rising panic and doubt that line and clog his thrumming veins.

It is silly really. He knows it is silly. But it does not stop the thoughts nudging the back of his mind even though he knows Blaine will come home. Blaine is safe. Blaine loves him. Blaine is just worried for a friend, understandably. A friend who is in hospital. A friend who is an ex, but a friend still. Which is good, because everyone needs friends… He was right to encourage that friendship. He was right, and it will all work out because Blaine will come home.

Because if he does not…

Douglas returns to watching the clock.

 

-+-

 

            It is light when he finally makes it back home – each step feels detached somehow as if his muscles had gone to sleep before him – but he knows that he is unlikely to be able to simply fall face-first and fully-clothed into bed. Or even _onto_ bed. He would probably settle for _onto_ right about now…or even _in the vicinity of_ …

His mind ambles as the elevator does its job and, for once, he is glad of the numbing effect of the double-whammy of emotional and physical exhaustion as they cloud out the overwhelming dread that a small part of him knows he should be paying more attention to.

If he had more energy he would have planned out a response – perhaps a string of justifications as to _why_ he took off to the hospital – but as it turns out he would have been fretting for nothing.

Douglas simply holds him tightly, kisses him chastely, and ushers Blaine to bed.

 

-+-

 

            Coffee – his lips taste like coffee. They curve upwards into a delicious bow and Blaine finds he needs to claim them; to taste them again just to be sure.

Definitely coffee.

He feels a matching grin tighten his own lips in response. A press of demanding tongue and his partner opens for him. Blaine deepens the kiss until, lightheaded, he remembers they have to actually breathe. Kurt’s breath ghosts over Blaine’s cheek as he tilts his head to nuzzle and kiss and suck and bite into the glorious pale column of skin below Kurt’s jaw. The resultant moan is low and needy. Blaine needs to make Kurt repeat it.

Kurt’s body is a map of freckles and dimples that Blaine has memorised by touch and taste and smell – he trails his lips – suck, nibble, lap, drag – over each dip and curve and plain. He plays Kurt as if he were made solely for their enjoyment with as much finesse, dedication and skill as he plays any instrument. Grazing his teeth over Kurt’s right collarbone will make Kurt’s hips buck slightly, and sucking at his left nipple will result in Kurt gripping Blaine more tightly. A bite to the wing of his left hip and Kurt will bite Blaine’s neck before pressing his lips to the bruised skin in pants - demanding and impatient.

The thick, hot press of Kurt’s arousal grinds into Blaine’s inner thigh. He creates a little distance – he knows Kurt can wait a little longer. Hands grasp Blaine’s ass and kneed as Kurt tries to re-gain delicious friction, but Blaine moves down to lick a wet stripe along the crease of Kurt’s thigh.

A leg hooks between Blaine’s and Kurt flips them – his hands finding Blaine’s and pinning them above his head.

            ‘Tease.’

Kurt’s voice is gravelly, his eyes lust-blown. Blaine licks his lips.

Hands pull his knees up and spread his legs further apart – Blaine leaves his hands where they were placed as the weight of Kurt moves back and down.

Thick laps of tongue tease him but he is good – he keeps his hands where they were put and his hips from bucking. Kurt laps and tongues and circles and presses until Blaine’s toes are curling and he wants it to be enough – because it is what Kurt is giving him – but he _needs_ more. Kurt stops then.

Blaine’s abdomen is pre-cum slick. He _throbs_.

A blunt, wet circle-dip-circle-press starts and Blaine’s eyes roll back. One knuckle. Circle-dip-circle-press. Two. Circle-dip-circle-press. Three.

_One. Two. Three._

The finger stretches and crooks and strokes him.

A second joins it.

A third.

_One. Two. Three._

They fuck him then. It is not enough and he knows that Kurt is purposely avoiding his prostate, but he takes it because it is _Kurt_.

            ‘Now who’s the tease?’

Kurt laughs and Blaine’s cock twitches as Kurt crooks his fingers and rubs.

The emptiness is worse.

A kiss.

_One. Two. Three._

His lips are coffee.

 

-+-

 

            Bleary eyed he wakes alone and cold and empty and painfully hard. The bedside table boasts cooling coffee and a hastily scrawled note. Blaine groans in frustration, closes his eyes and tries to chase his dream before he realises that not only is it pointless, but also massively inappropriate and very, very wrong.

The thought of Douglas taking the time to make him coffee before he left for work makes Blaine feel physically ill and soul-dirty. Leaving both note and mug he heads for the shower, turns the temperature all the way past “ _brrrrr_ ” and “teeth-shattering-chattering”to “blue-balls” and lets the freezing water beat some sense into his brain and away from his more traitorous parts.

 

-+-

 

            They do not get a chance to talk about it until it all blows up. In hind-sight that is probably why.

Blaine had noticed Douglas’ ever lengthening work days – he certainly noticed how tired and tense his partner had become, but beyond shared takeout and a cursory kiss before lights out, there never seemed to be time to actually talk. Not about things that mattered anyway. Blaine’s attempts at enquiring after Douglas’ day were usually met with

            ‘I really don’t want to talk about it right now, darling… I’m sorry – I just want to unwind, with you. Is that alright?’

So Blaine stopped asking, and Douglas was either too tired to remember or he did not really want to know the answer because he never asked Blaine how his day was.

It was not as if Blaine really _did_ anything anymore anyway and beyond an initial concern post-Douglas’ last trip to China, the subject had never resurfaced.

In a way Blaine was glad as it meant he did not have to admit to being a drop-out failure who destroyed everything he touched. Instead he focused on making sure there was dinner (take-out at least) ready when Douglas came home – and didn’t that just make him feel like a proper little househusband – but Blaine had become a little addicted to seeing Douglas’ tired, resulting smile so he persisted.

He spent his mornings avoiding Sylvia – the housekeeper had tried to get him ‘back on track’ when she had discovered him spending more and more time lying-in. He found her embarrassing meddling to be enough motivation to get him to wake, dress, and leave before she arrived. Blaine usually ended up at Charlie’s – he did not exactly have anywhere else to go – and there he remained, usually on Charlie’s couch, until it was time to return to the penthouse via a restaurant to pick-up that day’s dinner.

It was only a matter of time though until the fragile routine crumbled.

‘I have to go back out to China.’

Blaine swallows a mouthful of pad thai and blinks. Douglas stares at his chopsticks.

            ‘Oh. OK.’

 

-+-

 

            ‘Heard from Blaine recently?’

Kurt rolls his eyes and adjusts his neckerchief in the mirror before biting out a

            ‘You know I haven’t, Rachel.’

            ‘So you didn’t invite him then?’

            ‘No.’

            ‘But it’s Sondheim!’ Her whine sets his teeth on edge.

            ‘I know.’

            ‘I know _you_ know, Kurt. I just thought –’

            ‘- You never think –’

            ‘- that it would be nice to invite him seeing as he did try to help with my Winter Showcase performance – which was _perfect_ by the way – and we haven’t seen him since your accident –’

            ‘- It wasn’t an _accident_ –’

            ‘- fine! Hate crime! He looked terrible at the hospital, Kurt –’

            ‘- I’m not surprised. ’Cedes said you completely laid into him-’

            ‘-I was worried!’

            ‘I know. But we’ve been over this a thousand times already –’

            ‘-Ku-rt!’

            ‘He won’t come, Rachel – and before you say _anything_ : Kurt Hummel does not beg.’

            ‘But if he did somehow show up…?’

He spins to face the brunette then.

            ‘What did you do, Rachel?’

            ‘Nothing?’ Her smile is enormous and utterly mischievous as she backs out of Kurt’s “room”.

            ‘Rachel?!’

            ‘You totally owe me!’

            ‘If you think this makes us even again you are mistaken, Berry!’

A giggle from behind the curtain diffuses panicked-anger to something else just as heart-hammeringly jittery and he finds himself compelled to re-check his clothing choice.

            ‘You look perfect! Now get out here!’ Another fit of giggles erupts from behind the curtain. ‘Come on! You’re going to be late!’

He takes a steadying breath. _One._

Another. _Two._

Another. _Three_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, so very sorry that this has taken so long. 
> 
> Season 6 spoilers kind of knocked me around the same time as SAD and my Depression double-teamed me in the very-not-fun way.
> 
> To all of you who waited for this - THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart. I really hope it was worth it, and I swear to you that this fic is not abandoned - far from it! 
> 
> Your comments and kudos help me breathe - this is for all of you. <3


	3. Flicker, then Fade Out

### Flicker, then Fade Out

 

            ‘You’re going out?’

Blaine throws an exasperated glance over his shoulder as he fastens a stubborn cufflink before dropping his gaze back to the mirror.

            ‘Yes. I _told_ you – Rachel invited me to support Kurt at his performance.’ Douglas’ blank gaze irks something inside Blaine so his next words are harsher than he perhaps intended. ‘Remember – the one he missed because he was bashed?’

            ‘That’s tonight?’

            ‘Yes. Tonight. And I’m running late already so…’ The younger man adjusts his bowtie – his eyes flickering up to meet Douglas’ in the cool glass surface of the mirror as he does so, but there is something in the dejected look the older man is wearing that makes Blaine pause. ‘What’s wrong?’

            ‘I just… Nothing. Don’t worry about it – have a lovely evening and send Rachel and Kurt my regards.’

Blaine turns to face the other man, trying as he does so to school his features into a semblance of calm while his pulse kicks up a notch inside.

            ‘Don’t _nothing_ me, Douglas. I didn’t think you’d mind – you actually _said_ you didn’t mind. It’s not like we _do_ anything in the evenings anymore –’ He aims for nonchalance but he can feel his jaw tightening as he speaks; words flowing more freely than they would have were he completely sober.

            ‘-Blaine, don’t.’ The interruption irks, but Douglas’ lack of continuation or explanation rankles more.

            ‘Don’t what? Go out? Stay? What do you want from me here?’ Weeks’ worth of pent up teenage sexual frustration, nervous energy from not really having anything to focus on anymore, and bottled guilt nag at his centre and bleed through into his words in short sentences and sharp tones. It is as if he is watching this scene from a couple of feet away – he feels disengaged and detached; somehow separate and _other_. Blaine places a hand on the cool surface of the dressing table behind him as if he could somehow simultaneously gain some of the furniture’s inanimate composure and strength.

Douglas regards Blaine carefully, and Blaine cannot help but notice the tired pleading quality to the set of Douglas’ jaw – it helps cut a little through the fogging of his mind.

            ‘I just thought we could spend an evening together – like we used to – have dinner out someplace and just…talk…’ The taller man’s voice rises a little at the end as if it were nothing but an innocent question, and the uncertainty barely concealed within twangs something within Blaine’s core. It feels almost as if the question was actually criticising _him_ ; doubting him somehow.

            ‘I’ve been suggesting we do just that for _weeks_ …’ He grits his teeth to find his jaw already tense.

            ‘I know. I’ve just been –‘

            ‘ _Busy_. I know.’

            ‘Blaine, be fair –‘

            ‘Fair? I’m nothing if not fair. I make sure when you get home there’s food ready so you won’t have to worry about it. I make sure you have quiet when you slink off to your library to work until god knows what time in the morning, and do I complain? No.’

            ‘I know, sweetheart, and I appreciate it – I really do. I’m sorry I’ve just been so stressed out with getting things ready for China…’

Blaine barely stops himself from rolling his eyes in response. Douglas looks _exhausted_ but that has become so common place that it is actually normality these days – anyway, Blaine had _tried_ to get him to talk about it but Douglas had never wanted to. The younger man takes a breath to try to quieten the hammering in his ears and silently counts to three before continuing.

            ‘I know. Look – we’ll do something tomorrow night, alright? I promise. I think it would be really nice actually. I’ll make a reservation; that Italian we like?’

Blaine takes a step towards the doorway where Douglas stands as if propped upright by the frame alone, but Douglas straightens and it looks for all the world to Blaine like a tiger squaring off before a fight. Adrenaline courses through Blaine’s veins like white fire – assisted, no doubt, by the three scotches he had had earlier to settle his nerves and dispel the nagging sense of _guilt_ that tightens around him daily like a blanket – but when the words come from Douglas they sound so utterly defeated that it serves to kindle the fire rather than quench it.

            ‘What do you do during the day, Blaine?’

He erupts.

            ‘So now you’re interested? _Now_ you want to talk?’

            ‘You just have all day to spend with your friends, Blaine. I feel like we don’t see each other anymore…we don’t talk…’

            ‘And whose fault is that exactly?’

            ‘Blaine, I’m not trying to argue with you –‘ Douglas raises a hand to massage at his temple as if the motion alone would swat the conversation away like an annoying wasp.

            ‘Really? Because I hate to tell you this but that seems _exactly_ like what you are doing here.’ Blaine takes a step towards him but, despite his apparent exasperation, Douglas makes no move to allow the younger man to pass.

            ‘Please can we just have one discussion without it ending badly? I just… I _care_ about you, Blaine. Why is that so hard for you to understand? Of course I care what you do during the day. I’m sorry, alright? I should have intervened sooner – I know something happened while I was away last time -’

           ‘-Why do we have to do this right now?-’

            ‘- I was scared to ask because I was worried that you’d maybe realised that this is not what you wanted…but you seemed alright when I was back so I left things be. But I shouldn’t have. I know that. I should have talked to you. I was just so caught up with work, Blaine. Coming back early has caused some unforeseen problems, and you know how important this project is to me –‘

            ‘-I know _exactly_ the order of importance of things in your life, Douglas-‘

            ‘- Be fair, Blaine. Please.-‘

            ‘Fair? I’ve been more than fair!-‘ Blaine’s veins thrum and a small voice inside is screaming at him to stop because deep down he knows that Douglas does care and that they both rely on Douglas’ business for their livelihood. But there are louder voices:

_~ Because you can’t hold a job. You’re useless. Good for nothing!_ ~ It hisses.

When Douglas came back early Blaine had been elated – he had been in such a dark place, floating lost and adrift, that he had quashed the knowledge that there would be repercussions.

_~ Which would make this all your fault..._ ~

To top it all off he cannot seem to get Kurt out of his head. He had tried to seduce Douglas a couple of times with the thought that perhaps he was merely horny and if he took action it would get it out of his system…

_~ But Douglas doesn’t want you any more does he? ~_ It claws at his insides and saps at him until even the truths he _knows_ :

Douglas loves him.

Douglas trusts him.

Douglas is just tired from work.

Douglas does not blame you.

Things will get better.

Dissipate and dissolve beneath the sheer weight of it.

Blaine barely hears Douglas’ soft ‘I just…I wanted to give you space, Blaine.’

            ‘Just so long as the space was exactly the same shape and size as this apartment, right?’ He hardly recognises himself in that instant and a dull throb behind his eyes scolds him for drinking during the day time.

_~ Yes, blame the alcohol. ~_

He had needed it to tamper down the nerves of seeing Kurt again after seeing him in the hospital.

Of seeing Kurt perform again.

Would he still bear bruises from those fists?

He kept telling himself it was because he was nervous for Kurt. It had to be that…because if it was not that meant that the dreams meant something more and – but Douglas is still speaking and Blaine struggles to quieten his thoughts and his blood enough to listen.

            ‘- But you’re never here, Blaine. Not really. And don’t try to tell me it’s because you’re studying or at work because I know –‘ Douglas looks utterly distraught and exasperated.

            ‘What do you know, Douglas? Enlighten me.’ Blaine interrupts.

            ‘I know you’re spending all your free time with Benedict Charles –‘

            ‘Who I spend my time with is my business –‘

            ‘He is not good company, Blaine.’

            ‘Why? Why do you hate me spending time with him so much?’

            ‘This is not about that, Blaine. Stop twisting the conversation, please!’

            ‘You don’t get to say who I’m friends with or what I do, Douglas. You’re not my father!’

They’re both panting – their breath coming in short, sharp, staccato punches of punctuation.

            ‘You’re right, Blaine. I’m not your father. I’ve not once tried to be – we’re supposed to be equals here, but every time I try to suggest something you bite my head off.’

Blaine cannot find the words to apologise like he knows he should. He should probably stay and talk to Douglas, the man is after all his partner…but instead of “I’m sorry – you didn’t deserve that. We’re both just tired. Let’s grab something to eat together and talk.” what actually comes out is:

            ‘I’m going out, Douglas. Don’t wait up.’

 

-+-

 

            The cab ride is stifling and does nothing to calm Blaine’s thoughts or his hammering heart. Instead he fumes and stews quietly, steadfastly ignoring the cab driver’s short-lived attempts at conversation. He glances at his wrist but finds he forgot to put on his watch in the commotion – he wants to blame Douglas for interrupting him getting ready and manufacturing the argument, but he knows that neither of those things are entirely purely the fault of the other man. The further from the penthouse the black and yellow steel trap take him, the more melancholic his thoughts. Blaine screws his eyes up and forces down a choked sob – it would only be self-pity that brought it forth and Blaine cannot succumb to that. Instead he gently rests his head upon the ice of the glass and blindly stares allowing the blur of the familiar to bring him back down.

 

-+-

 

            Burnt dust, fresh paint, stale sweat, hairspray, and wood polish – those are the smells of backstage. The smell is comforting and homely – it is Glee Club, and family. Kurt breathes deeply of it and allows himself the indulgence for a moment of the odd peace of the frantic warm-ups and vocal exercises occurring around him; the nervous energy a gentle tickle up his spine. He wrings his hands only to find them slick with sweat so he blows softly upon them instead. He is not nervous - not for the performance anyway; he has that in the bag. His eyes fly open when a hand makes contact with his shoulder and Kurt takes a breath, head up, shoulders back, before walking out and into the performance space to his starting position – exactly as rehearsed. His eyes flit quickly, senses tuned and feeling the room – how many audience members, where they are sat, their mood…all filed neatly away without effort so that he can make the best of the performance, use the right amount of energy, not bump into tables or chairs… He spots Rachel and his father and…an empty seat. A breath. Another. It means nothing. It is unimportant. It will not affect him. He is stronger than that. He has the bruises and aches and nightmares to prove it. A breath.

He feels the vibrations of the music in the air and through the floor – he allows them to guide him and he lives his performance. He breathes the words. He _is_ the song. He knows without looking that there is a couple to the left of him and a trio of faculty at a table to the right, he plays to them in turn, but there is an itch between his shoulder blades shaped like an empty chair.

He uses it as a prop, improvising a Bob Fosse-esque move, before making his way around to his father – who is singing along quietly, the corners of his eyes suspiciously damp – and then to Rachel. But he barely notices her encouraging and not-at-all-subtle thumbs-up, because someone is sitting at a table alone across from him.

_Blaine_.

A fraction of a second and he recovers. A quick glance to the table of Madame Tibideaux and Kurt is certain no one noticed his minor lapse. Instead, he sends silent thanks to his adrenal gland as he makes his way towards the piano for the final chorus and does not give himself time to process what it means that _he_ is here. Kurt makes the jump onto the piano flawlessly (lightly slicing the soles of his shoes into perfectly regular diamonds with a sharp knife _had_ been worth it for the extra grip after all) and before he knows it the last syllable is ringing around the golden walls of the space. He takes a breath. Another. Another.

The applause feels like an eruption and Kurt can hear his father above all others except one – Blaine. Kurt’s cheeks sting with the width of his smile, or maybe it is the still healing cuts and bruises, but none of that matters because…but the table is empty now. A sea has gathered around the piano and he searches faces frantically for the familiar, but then there is a hand, and it is his Junior Prom all over again. His prince is there to stand beside him and pull him from the fire. The touch sends a tingle through his soul (or maybe it was cooling sweat and a come-down from the adrenaline of performance) as Blaine helps Kurt down from atop the instrument. There is barely time for a “thank you” before Kurt is assaulted with complements and praise and smiles and “you’re so brave”s. He thinks he is successful in conveying the message that Blaine is to wait for him before he is dragged in a different direction entirely by a current of praising faculty.

It is all a blur really – a mass of comments regarding his remaining black eye from when his eye socket was fractured, mingling with praise for his song choice and of his performance. He cannot recall exactly what Madame Tibideaux says to him, but the Dean is smiling, so it must mean he at least passed. Rachel is talking animatedly in his ear while his father does his best impression of a bear by crushing him slightly until Kurt points out that his ribs are still bruised, and Burt releases him with chagrin, as if he just accidently murdered Kurt’s puppy or something. It feels good. It feels right. It feels as if he is finally becoming himself again – that he is exactly where he is meant to be.

Eventually he pulls free – pointedly ignoring a smug look from his annoying brunette friend – and makes his way back stage. In reality the entire thing must have been a matter of minutes because he can already hear the beginnings of one of his class-mates beginning their performance, but it felt like hours. He makes his way quickly through to the lobby where he just _knows_ Blaine will be waiting for him.

He is not disappointed.

He pauses a little distance away.

They regard each other. Blaine is smiling but his eyes look tired and his shoulders are drawn – Kurt frowns slightly, then steps closer and pulls the other man into a hug. Blaine smells like whiskey and the sea.

Kurt releases him and Blaine takes a small step back as if to keep himself in check.

            ‘Uh..hi, Kurt.’

            ‘You came!’

            ‘Rachel invited me.’

            ‘I know. There was a seat for you –‘

            ‘I didn’t know if I’d be welcome sitting with your family.’

Kurt frowns slightly and Blaine’s eyes break away from his own.

            ‘I’m glad you made it.’

            ‘So am I. You were amazing up there, Kurt.’

            ‘Thank you.’

            ‘I mean it.’

Warmth is creeping into his face and Kurt smiles.

            ‘I…uh….I should leave you to it…’ Blaine turns as if to leave and Kurt gently takes his hand.

            ‘Blaine, I…uh…could we talk for a minute? Or do you have to go right now?’

He watches as the shorter man turns back towards him, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. Blaine dips his head and Kurt takes it as an “okay”.

            ‘I just need to take off this stage make up a minute, alright?’

            ‘I’ll wait here.’

Kurt smiles and nods before dashing back down a hallway and into the dressing rooms. Three wet wipes, a quick re-style of his hair, and a spritz of aftershave to freshen up, and Kurt reappears to find Blaine leant with his back to the wall and eyes to the ceiling. The bright lights of the foyer bleach his skin leaving the impression that he has stepped straight from the screen of a black and white film. Blaine must have heard a slight squeak from one of the abused soles of Kurt’s shoes as he straightens and turns to face him. Kurt smiles softly and once again takes his hand before leading him out into the night.

It must have been raining for the pavements glisten in the sodium light – at least his shoes were already probably irredeemable; otherwise he would have been annoyed at having ruined them by wearing them outside and getting the suede soles wet. It is never quiet in New York, Kurt has found; there is always life – usually he enjoys it – but since he was beaten it makes him a little edgy. The hand in his own is heavy and reassuringly real though.

Another perk of city-living is that it never really sleeps – there is always somewhere open. The coffee shop looks pretty dead which is actually perfect as this talk is likely to be awkward enough without the need for an audience. Kurt finds the door opening for him and realises that Blaine must have let go of his hand at some point. Before the heat flushing his cheeks again betrays him, Kurt enters and begins to remove his coat and scarf – at least this way he can put his body’s reaction down to the temperature differential between the freezing outdoors and cosy coffee-rich interior.

            ‘Your usual?’ Blaine’s voice sounds a little rough and unsteady – his question betraying somehow the glamour of confidence he had been wearing. Kurt nods lightly before taking Blaine’s wool coat and blazer from him and heading for a secluded booth on an empty side of the café. He morns briefly Blaine’s need to remove the layers because he had looked so _good_ – the long dark coat and scarf combination reminding Kurt a little of Dalton days, but this coat was far better cut, and this scarf was cashmere… He folds the coat reverently after he takes a quick peak to confirm his suspicions – the label reads “Henry Poole  & Co., 15 Saville Row, London W1”. The jacket bears the same. He swallows before stealing a glance in Blaine’s direction. Yes – the suit trousers are as well tailored as the outerwear had been – Kurt can appreciate a well cut suit at the best of times but outside of the vault at Vogue . com and his occasional find online for himself, his appreciation is usually limited to what Santana calls “perving” online at “fashion porn”. It is from one of those blogs that he actually recognises Blaine’s shoes as being by Barker Black. He successfully quashes the ugly rearing head of jealousy that threatens to bring bile up with it, and instead merely focuses on counting the knots of wood in the top of the table before him, whilst reminding himself of discussions with his father and _why_ he has brought Blaine _here_ in the first place.

Regardless, his first words upon hearing the arrival of Blaine with their coffees is not “thank you” as he had been practicing, but rather

            ‘They should be hung up not placed over a chair, sorry.’

Apparently this had not actually been a bad move as instead of the frown or awkward silence he had expected to result from his outburst, he receives a laugh. A laugh which is apparently still infectious because it has all the tension flooding from Kurt with it as his own laughter follows.

            ‘I meant – thank you for the coffee.’ Still, Kurt feels he needs to clarify.

            ‘I know.’

Kurt glances up and Blaine is smiling at him still. Kurt returns it.

            ‘So…’

            ‘So.’

            ‘This is…’

            ‘Awkward?’

            ‘I was going to say “nice” actually.’

            ‘Oh…’ Blaine frowns a little and Kurt feels a keen urge to bring the smile back and the sun with it. Blaine seems to have other plans, however. ‘You look better.’

Kurt had forgotten for a while then that the last Blaine had saw of him had been while he was hooked up to drips and bleeping machines, swollen like over ripen fruit, and barely conscious. He bites back the snarky retort that prepares to fire in automatic defence, but does not trust his tongue after its earlier betrayal, and nods instead.

            ‘I would have called to see you…to make sure you were better but..’

            ‘I know: my attack dogs. They’ve been called off. Rachel’s apology was to make sure you came tonight. What did she threaten you with?’

            ‘She didn’t have to threaten me, Kurt.’

            ‘I know. Actually it wasn’t Rachel, or Santana.’

            ‘Oh?’ Kurt’s eyebrows raise and he takes to neatening the paper napkin and the teaspoon by making sure they are aligned correctly to the table’s edge.

            ‘Uh – things haven’t been great. At home.’

            ‘Oh.’

            ‘But that’s not important. Let’s talk about you – you were so great up there tonight, Kurt. Honestly – you were fantastic. Your breath control was perfect –‘

            ‘Blaine, stop.’ Perhaps a little harsh but he needed to cut the rambling off. ‘I just… Sorry. I’ll start again. I had it all planned out – what I wanted to say, but you have this way of taking my words away and…’ He lets his sentence fade to nothing and imagines words scattered across the top of the table before him – chaotic and meaningless. His hand is in Blaine’s and across the table before he had realised Blaine had reached for it. Circles rubbed into the back of Kurt’s hand soothe him a little until he is able to look up. There is no pity in Blaine’s eyes; only concern so sincere that it pinches. ‘Blaine…I miss you. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

            ‘What for? You’ve not done anything wrong, Kurt. Just focus a minute and breathe with me, alright? In…two…three…out…two…three…in…two…three…out…two…three… that’s it. There we go.’

Everything smells like coffee and for a minute he is in the Lima Bean; warm and safe and loved within caramel eyes. A blink and he can think again. He swallows thickly and reaches for his coffee with his free hand. It is a little too hot still but he drinks deeply anyway. The burn chases away the last of the clutter from the table.

At some point Blaine must have moved to slide in beside Kurt on the bench – his thigh is pressed against Kurt’s and warmth is ridiculously reassuring. He feels the other man shift as if he is about to return to his own seat now that Kurt seems better – Kurt holds Blaine’s hand a little more tightly within his own and Blaine takes the hint.

Kurt takes another calming slug of coffee as if it were whiskey, then the words begin to pour.

            ‘Dad said we’re both pig-headed. You and I, I mean.’ He desperately wants to pause, to see Blaine’s eyes so he can gauge his response but he knows that if he stops now he will never say it – or they will get interrupted again… He forces himself to keep going, anchoring himself by staring at their intertwined fingers and trusting in the fact that Blaine was not pulling away. ‘We’ve both said and done some things that are pretty terrible…but not unforgivable.

‘You should have sat with Dad, Blaine, because you’re family – you will _always_ be family to me. It feels like years ago – Dalton, I mean – you took my hand and I think it was _it_ for me then. You are it for me. You always have been. And I knew you’d never hurt me. I knew it like I know that you were born for the stage, and that Rachel would be on Broadway even if she had to kill to get there… But I was naïve, and I was wrong… It is power – when you trust someone you give them the power to hold you up and tear you down. We’ve done both to each other, Blaine. But I realised something that utterly terrified me: I never stopped loving you. You hurt me more than anyone else, and I couldn’t stop loving you, and I hated myself for it – not you. I couldn’t hate you.

‘I don’t know what this all means…I just. I needed to tell you that I understand – I think what we have was real, and I… I still love you. I need you to know that. So that we can…work all this out?’

The silence is a yawning chasm and Kurt risks a glance at the man beside him. Blaine’s eyes are on Kurt’s lips, and Kurt’s drift to Blaine’s.

            ‘Please, say something?’ Kurt is not above begging at this point.

            ‘Kurt,’ his speech is a soft breath and a moan.

His lips are magnets and Kurt’s drift towards Blaine’s as his eyes drift closed. They collide without drama – there are no supernovas, and the world spins undisturbed – but Kurt’s heart races as if he were fighting for his life regardless. It is too short and not enough.

            ‘You kiss different.’ Blaine swallows Kurt’s words and drinks them instead of his coffee.


	4. Bricks and Mortar

### Bricks and Mortar

 

            His lips tingle still; his skin is stubble-scraped, and the wind is a bitter slap against his cheeks – it is enough to keep him grounded, for now anyway.  Blaine shakes his head lightly, scattering water droplets around like a wet dog, and closes his eyes against the stream of ice rain that has long-since freed his hair of its pomade-hold.  He is not wholly sure of the time thanks to his lack of watch, but if he were to guess he would bet on it being some time in the early hours of the morning – but he has no way to check as the clouds bar any threat of seeing the sun today.  It is oddly fitting.  At least this time he has shoes.

His hand still feels warm with the ghost of Kurt’s.

He must be sick.  That has to be it.  He’s ill…  There is no other explanation.  There cannot be.

Kurt still loves him. 

Such a simple statement. 

But he keeps waiting for that moment where everything snaps into high definition and the path he needs to take is clear and in focus.  That is how it happens in the movies after all.

It never comes.

The bow-wave of a passing taxi barely misses him and his first thought is how mad Kurt would be at him having ruined his coat and suit in all this rain. 

His laugh is caffeine-bitter.

 

-+-

 

            _The loft had been cold and empty when they had finally arrived after managing to successfully negotiate their way there from the coffee shop without actually letting go of each other.  Kurt’s pulse had ramped – torn between his heart singing “_ yes-yes-finally-Blaine-Home-yes!” _and his head’s berating “_ Rachel and Dad could be there!  What are you doing?  How are you going to explain this?  This is wrong!  Cheater!  Cheater!  This is how this all went wrong to begin with!  This is not how this is meant to be. _”  Blaine’s lips on his pulse and his hands on Kurt’s waist mutes one of the voices and Kurt slams Blaine backwards onto the couch._

 

-+-

 

            Charlie is out when Blaine arrives, sodden and dripping, at his building, but the doormen know Blaine by now and simply wave him on in anyway.  Blaine thanks them, but turns around and heads back out into the ever-amplifying bustle of the city.  The last thing he needs right now is to be alone with a seemingly unlimited supply of alcohol.

Recognising that is progress, yes?

Out of options and excuses he hails a cab, rattles off his address, and tries not to inhale the stench of liberally applied Axe wafting from the driver.  He feels sick enough already without needing to accelerate the process.

 

-+-

 

            _In so many ways they are just the same Kurt and Blaine they always were – a little more jagged perhaps, a little rough around the edges, but they still slot together perfectly.  Kurt’s skin hums with anticipation – gooseflesh creeping down his arms with the journey of Blaine’s mouth.  Shirts and ties and belts and under-shirts lay discarded about them, but as flesh is revealed it becomes harder (no pun intended) to maintain the delusion that Blaine is his and always was and always will be.  The boy – no,_ man _\- beneath him is firmer than before – more toned – the last of his puppy fat melted away and Kurt will never again have the chance to appreciate it.  He missed that boat._

_There are other changes too – a little more chest hair (though he is pleased to notice that it is well groomed); there’s a strange desperation to Blaine’s kisses that is also new.  Details that feed the pit of churning unease that simmers in Kurt’s gut._

_A hand threads its way through Kurt’s hair – gently massaging his scalp then tugging lightly – and once more his thoughts are derailed.  But the disquiet lingers._

_Kurt’s hands roam Blaine’s bared chest and he tries to focus on the familiarities and the_ now _.  He used to know each of Blaine’s plains and dips by heart.  He used to know._

_Blaine’s mouth is hungry – his lips claim Kurt’s as if ownership was never in question.  He can feel Blaine in the urgent press against his hip – Blaine tilts his pelvis slightly and Kurt can feel the other man’s smile against his own as the action elicits a moan from Kurt.  Hands roam thighs and ass and creases and curves._

_It has been so long for Kurt – he feels half-crazy and touch-drunk - but there’s the constant thrill-threat that they could be disturbed at any moment.  Rachel could come back.  He left his dad with her back at NYADA…_

            _‘Stop thinking, Kurt.’  Blaine’s voice is wrecked – whiskey and gravel.  His pupils are blown; his lips spit-slick and full – the embodiment of his every fantasy for the last 3+ years of his life (or forever…) and Kurt wants to fill him up so badly that it physically_ hurts _.  He wants to take this man and claim him and love him and make love to him…with him.  But this is wrong._

_Kurt kisses him then, as chastely as he can manage.  He deserves some sort of medal for self-restraint (or personal cock-blocking).  He sits back onto Blaine’s thighs and resists as Blaine tries to follow with a gentle hand._

_‘Blaine – I love you – but we can’t do this.  Not like this.  You need to work out what you want.’_

            _‘Want you.’_

_‘I know, baby, I know.  But just – stop – stop – please.  Just think for a minute, okay?’_

_Blaine stops trying to sit up and flops backwards onto the couch, eyes rolling in clear frustration.  Kurt draws himself up and manages to untangle himself from Blaine’s legs relatively elegantly.  He collects strewed clothing to have something to occupy his hands.  Blaine throws an arm over his face._

_Kurt pulls his under-shirt back on hurriedly.  He feels too exposed – a raw and bloody nerve – and it is utterly unsettling.  He locates his shirt over by the door and tries to smooth out the worst of the creases with trembling fingers._

_A hand on his shoulder helps him keep breathing - when did that become a_ thing _?_

_‘Kurt, stop - just come here a minute?’  Blaine’s voice is soft as he guides them both back to the couch.  Kurt sits and Blaine drops down beside him.  Their thighs touch like they had in the coffee shop, and Kurt manages to shuffle slightly to maintain a little distance as if it would help him keep his thoughts in order.  ‘What’s wrong?’_

_‘I love you -’_

_‘I know, Kurt.’_

_‘Do you?  I know what it feels like and I can’t do it.’_

_‘What do you mean?  What what feels like?’_

_‘I can’t be the other guy, Blaine.  I just_ can’t. _’_

            _‘God, I need a drink.’  Blaine stands and makes towards the kitchen.  Hovering as if he does not quite know what to do.  There’s something in the image of Blaine standing, shirtless, in Kurt’s kitchen that settles heavily in Kurt’s chest._

_‘Blaine, don’t shut down on me, okay?  I can’t…  Just…  What does this mean to you?’_

            _‘What does this mean to me?  Do you have any idea what you do to me?  What_ this _does to me?  I don’t know who I am anymore.  I don’t know who this person is.  So, don’t go all ice queen on me, Kurt – you were fine with all this a minute ago.’_

            _‘Is that why you drink?  Don’t think I can’t smell it on you.  Is that how you run away now?’  Blaine rolls his eyes, his eyebrows drawn into thin lines; one hand grasps at the back of his neck as if he were holding his own head in place.  Kurt spies a bruise forming just under Blaine’s jaw.  ‘No.  You’re right.  That was uncalled for.’  Kurt takes a deep breath and gently pats the seat next to him.  ‘_ Talk _to me, Blaine.  I’m right here.’_

            _‘What do you want me to say?’_

_‘Start simple.  Do you love me?’_

_‘How can you even ask me that?’  Blaine turns his back then and resumes riffling through cupboards._

_‘Because you haven’t said it.’_

_‘What are you, six?  I think actions were pretty loud, Kurt.’_

_‘It’s pretty simple, Blaine.  You either love me or you don’t.’_

_‘I’m not playing games with you.’_

_‘Dammit, Blaine.  This is not a game.  This has never been a game to me.  I’ve been completely honest with you – this…_ you _are really important to me.  I want you back, Blaine.  I –’  He pauses then and actually looks at Blaine - striped of the fancy clothes he looks so small and lost.  Blaine who used to command attention when he entered a room now curves in on himself and fidgets like a cornered animal.  ‘I’m not fixing you a drink, Blaine, stand still a minute!’_

_The other man straightens a little at the command and Kurt glimpses his Blaine again._

_‘You are a terrible host, Kurt.  I was looking for the coffee.’_

_‘Oh…’  A glance to the now-steaming kettle confirms Blaine’s statement.  ‘Oh!’  Flustered, Kurt rushes over and manages to pull himself together enough to pull the can of coffee grounds out of the correct cupboard.  Blaine takes them from Kurt gently before shoeing the other man back over towards the sofa._

_Kurt’s mind is in a whorl from the emotional whiplash, but he takes comfort in the knowledge that he was right to stop things before they went too far._

_When Blaine returns, it is with coffee, and Kurt forces himself to meet the other man’s eyes as he resumes his seat – carefully maintaining the distance Kurt fabricated between them._

_‘Does this look like I am “running away”, Kurt?’_

_‘Blaine – I didn’t mean –‘_

_‘- Yes you did.  It’s fine.  Really.’_

_‘It’s not.  It was an awful thing to say and I’m sorry.’_

_‘It doesn’t change anything though, does it?’_

_They fall into silence.  Kurt watches tiny bubbles swirl on the surface of his coffee.  He has so many questions – so many things he wants to know and to ask and to share with the man next to him.  Kurt cradles the mug in his hands like a caress; as if the warmth could sustain him._

_Blaine is quiet beside him, watching – always watching.  Kurt wants nothing more in that instant to press the other man back down into the cushions, but he knows he did the right thing – even if he did not handle it exactly as he should have.  He manages to place his own mug on the coffee table without spilling it everywhere – he instantly misses the warmth – but he feels like it was a barrier (a comfort blanket) and he needs to be sure he is honest and open now.  Kurt needs Blaine to understand._

_‘I feel like I’ve done most of the talking here, but I just wanted to be clear with you –‘_

_‘- I’m going to China for a couple of months.’_

_‘Months?’  It sucks the breath from Kurt’s lungs.  Blaine nods.            ‘When?’_

_‘We leave next week.’_

_‘We- a week… Okay.  So…tonight was?’_

_‘I was going to let you know, Kurt.  I didn’t plan for this.’_

_‘What’s the plan now?’_

 

-+-

 

            The penthouse is silent as Blaine drips his way like a sodden burglar towards a guest room.  He tells himself it is so he does not wake Douglas. 

Blaine strips in the dark – if he ensures that his coat and suit are hung up correctly to dry, rather than draped unceremoniously over the back of a chair, it is purely co-incidence and has _nothing_ to do with that evening’s events. 

Soul-tired, he finds a towel in the linen closet at random and roughly dries his hair.  He almost misses the slip of paper that floats to the floor.  It was already rose-stained.  He adds tears to the letter.

 

-+-

 **Blaine:** Are you around?  I need to talk. - B

 **Charlie** : With MissD, Felix, and a stunning young thing called Elliot (I think) in the Village.  What’s up?

 **Blaine:** I’ve really, really messed up. - B

 **Charlie:** OK.  Remember to breathe - I’m sure it’s not that bad.  Want to join us?

 **Charlie:** Miss D sends “smoochies” to you btw. 

 **Blaine:** Wouldn’t want to bring you guys down…or take you away from “Elliot” - B

 **Charlie:** You’re a good friend.  What happened?

 **Blaine:** I kissed him. – B

 **Charlie:** Pretty sure kissing your “fiancé” is not gonna mess anything up. ;-P

 **Blaine:** Kurt.  Not Douglas.  I kissed Kurt.  I’m a terrible person. – B

 **Charlie:** You said things weren’t great in that department with you and D recently (color me unsurprised).  I don’t see the issue, Anders.  It’s not like K and D are in the same circles.  Hell – sounds like best of both worlds to me.

 **Blaine:** I’m not that person!

 **Charlie:** Evidence to the contrary, Anders.

 **Charlie:** Look – I know you love D (pun intended – who doesn’t!) but this was always gonna happen.  Dating older guys is great – but you need a little relief on the side.  Let D look after you and make him happy in return.  Let K take care of the other stuff.  No problem.  B)

 **Blaine:** I need to tell Douglas what happened.

 **Charlie:** Will it change anything?  Will it take it back?  No.  All you’ll end up doing is hurting him.  Trust Uncle Charlie here, OK?

 

-+-

 

            He does not sleep.  He cannot – his mind will not give him peace especially after Charlie’s “advice”.  Blaine feels sick and alone.  Between his fingers, the dried rose is unbearably fragile – he twirls it absently.  His eyes rest, unfocused, on the letter in his lap; he does not sleep.

 

-+-

 

            The mirror betrays him.  Well, technically he betrayed himself – but he was hoping that there would be no visible markers to point guilty fingers towards his activities the previous evening beyond evidence of his lack of sleep.  The part of him that _loves_ that Kurt claimed him with his delicious lips is overwhelmed by the sick-guilt-horror of his betrayal of Douglas - the only one who had really been there for him.  He manages to mask it by wearing a turtleneck and for once he is thankful for winter.

Douglas is waiting for him in the kitchen – shielded by newspaper and blue-and-white coffee mug.  Blaine braces himself for a berating he wholly deserves, but it never comes.  The other man merely smiles at him softly and nudges a second mug towards him.

            ‘I…thought you’d be at work.’  Blaine feels the need to fill the silence.

            ‘Look, I thought about what you said last night, Blaine.  I’ve not been fair to you - I’m sorry, darling.  I promised I would never put work before you…  I want to make it up to you if you’ll let me.  So I called Penny at the office and I told her I’d be taking this week off to spend it with you before we head out to China.  I’m all yours.’

            ‘Wow, Douglas.  That’s…that’s really great.’

Blaine’s heart hammers in his chest, but Douglas’ smile is so brilliant Blaine cannot bring himself to say any more.  He takes the proffered coffee and cradles it as he heads to gaze out on the park from the windows – he does not trust himself to hold it together in close proximity to the other man quite yet.    

            ‘How was Kurt?’  The question blindsides Blaine, and apparently his acting capabilities are impaired by the lack of sleep because his inability to form a coherent answer makes Douglas look at him with a questioning tilt of the head.  ‘You went to his performance last night…’  He prompts.

            ‘Yes!  Kurt’s performance.  He was…it was great.  He was really great.’

            ‘What did he sing in the end?  Sondheim, right?’

            ‘Yeah.  Uh.  He sang “I’m Still Here” from “Follies”’.

            ‘Wow - tough choice.  I’m inclined to agree with Elaine Stritch - ’

            ‘- You don’t think he earned the right to sing it?’  Blaine does not want to argue - he has no right to argue - but the criticism rankles and he snaps. 

            ‘I think she was on to something when she said you had to reach 80 first, but he’s been through a lot – and if you think his performance was great then I have no doubt that it was.’  Douglas placates. 

            ‘I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to snap I just –’

            ‘Late night.  I know.  I didn’t get much sleep either…’  Douglas makes his way over to where Blaine stands, and casually rests against the frame beside him.  Blaine notices for the first time that Douglas is still in his pyjamas and for some reason it makes him feel _worse_.‘Alright – I’m going to promise something, and I need your help with this: no arguing today.  We just talk, and relax, and -’  Douglas peers out the window at the dismal weather and laughs slightly, ‘- we _don’t_ go for a walk in the park today.  Tomorrow maybe?  If it’s dry?  A picnic?’ 

Blaine manages to nod and smile.  Douglas smiles back and gently takes Blaine’s empty cup from him with a light kiss. 

            ‘Good.’

-+-

 

            ‘I am a terrible, terrible person, Elliot.  I am a hypocrite.  I am worse than –’

            ‘- Hey, stop that.  Alright.’ 

Elliot puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture.  The rain has not let-up and he is more than a little hung-over from that evening’s events.  Kurt gives him a look which could likely slice through metal, and Elliot manages not to laugh.  He leads them both through his apartment building and lets them in.  It’s tiny really, but it is home.  Kurt wanders over to the nearest chair and flops unceremoniously into it without even removing his soaked overcoat.  Elliot bites his lip slightly and manages not to comment. 

            ‘What am I going to do?’  Kurt groans.

Elliot grabs a glass of water and takes a couple of Advil before heading over to join his morose friend.

            ‘Right.  So, let me get this right.  You told him you still love him.  Then you both kissed.  Things got a little heated.  And then…’

            ‘I stopped it.  I mean – It’s _wrong_!  He’s engaged!’

            ‘Yes.  He’s engaged.  He’s not married, Kurt.’  Elliot takes another sip of water and watches as Kurt starts absently organising fabric swatches that Elliot had left strewn on the arm of the chair.  ‘You heard from him since?’

            ‘No.  Not since I asked him to leave.’

            ‘Right.  So – you need to give him some time.’

            ‘I know.  I know.’  Kurt sounds so downtrodden that Elliot wants nothing more than to pull the other man into a hug, but he knows that if he tries to move right now he may end up vomiting all over his friend instead.  The effect would not quite be the same.  ‘What if…  What if he doesn’t choose me?’

            ‘You love him.  He obviously loves you, Kurt –’

            ‘He didn’t say it.’

            ‘Did he need to?’  Kurt’s eyes remain on the small squares of fabric on his lap, and Elliot sighs loudly.  ‘Look – there is absolutely nothing you can do right now and dwelling on it is just going to make you ill.  So, here’s what we’re going to do: we’re going to practice that song you wanted to do with the band, and then we’re going to take you to your check-up.  Alright?’  Kurt nods, his eyes flicking up to meet Elliot’s.  They’re red-rimmed – Kurt looks how Elliot feels.  ‘“Love is a Battle Field,” right?’

            ‘You’re a good friend, Elliot.’

            ‘It’ll all work out, Kurt.  You’ll see.’

 

-+-

 

 


	5. Cutting the Cord

### Cutting the Cord

 

            ‘Alright then, Mr. Hummel – your x-ray looks good; the fracture is healing nicely.  Have you been getting any more headaches or any localised sharp pains?’ 

            ‘No.  I’ve been fine.’

            ‘Good, good.’  The doctor makes a note in the file before glancing back up to Kurt.  ‘What about your vision: any flashing lights, or anything usual?’

            ‘Nope.  Nothing like that.’

Dr. Richmond nods and jots something else down in illegible handwriting (to Kurt’s frustration). 

            ‘Appetite back?  Sleeping normally?’

            ‘Yes to both.’

            ‘Great.  Well it looks, to my sincere and heart-felt delight, like I can give you a clean bill of health.’  The older man’s smile looks genuine enough to Kurt so he allows himself to finally relax a little.  ‘If you develop any nausea, or start getting any headaches I want you to call me immediately.’

            ‘I shall.  Thank you again, Dr. Richmond.’  Kurt’s vision swims and he realises the reason he feels light-headed – he had yet to eat all day.

The doctor nods slightly, as if unused to thanks, and Kurt finds himself frowning a little in response.  There is a softness – sympathy? empathy? – in the doctor’s pale green eyes that Kurt does not recall having glimpsed before.  The effect makes the man seem all the more human and relatable. 

            ‘Take care, Mr. Hummel.’ 

            ‘You too.  Thank you again.’

            ‘A little advice – don’t be the hero.  I’m sure that young man you helped will be eternally grateful to you, don’t get me wrong.  But I’ve had to help identify so many young people…  Never forget how lucky you were, Mr. Hummel.  Don’t tempt fate again.  Don’t put those who love you through that.’

It is a little out of the left field and Kurt is not wholly sure what triggered it or how appropriate it is, but he manages to stutter out something that he hopes sounded like

            ‘Thank you – I will.’

 

-+-

 

            Elliot looks ridiculous folded into one of the small plastic chairs in the waiting area.  Kurt stifles a giggle as he heads over to collect his friend.  He feels lighter and a little giggly now that he _finally_ has a clean bill of health – he had not realised how much the idea that something may have been more permanently wrong had been weighing on him.

            ‘I just had possibly the most bizarre conversation with my doctor…’

The taller man raises an eyebrow as he extracts himself from his seat.

            ‘Alright – I’ll bite.’

            ‘He basically told me “carpe diem”.’

            ‘O-kay.’

            ‘Yeah.  I mean – I’m sure he meant it in a nice way or something, but it was a bit odd…’

Elliot frowns a little as he falls into step with his friend.

            ‘Maybe he has some personal experience with what happened to you or you remind him of someone?’

            ‘Maybe.’  Kurt concedes. 

            ‘So…what’s the prognosis?’  The way Elliot asks (as if he too had been worried about Kurt) twists something in Kurt’s stomach and he finds himself answering as quickly as possible.

‘I’m fine – all clear; no permanent damage - so I can write that off that chapter and move on with my life.’  Kurt smiles and Elliot’s frown fades with it.  They fall in to silence as they walk companionably towards the subway – the rain has not let up so Elliot, as the taller of the pair, holds their umbrella.  ‘Are you going to tell me about last night then or what?  I need to live vicariously though you because as we know – I cannot help but mess up my relationships apparently.  Come on – spill, Mr.!’

            ‘Right.  So, I actually caught up with buddy of mine from back home – she let me stay with her for a while when I first moved here.  She – uh…back then I knew her as Anthony - Tony was a couple of years older, and he was my mentor – he’s the one who taught me to sew.  I didn’t get why the other kids made fun of him back then, you know?  I think I had a bit of crush...’  He smiles ruefully in that way that only Elliot can, and Kurt finds he can kind of relate to this boy who no one gets, who likes fashion, and is _other_.  Elliot nods as if he knows what Kurt is thinking, and Kurt wonders, not for the first time, whether Elliot “Starchild” Gilbert is not a little bit magical.  ‘When Tony first showed me his drag I was blown away.  Looking back it’s kinda funny, you know, because he really wasn’t very polished back then, but to me he looked _amazing.._.  I helped him come up with her name – Miss D’Rection.  She still uses it.’

            ‘So, you and Miss D’Rection went to the Village last night?’

Elliot nods. 

            ‘Yeah – she introduced me to some of her friends.  She’s one of those people that you don’t see for ages and then you catch up and it’s like you never spent a day apart, you know?  You just click?’

It is Kurt’s turn to nod, his thoughts drifting straight back to a certain dark-haired man he had had pressed beneath him on his couch last night.  Elliot can definitely read Kurt’s mind because he takes Kurt’s temporary distraction as an opportunity to gently cuff his shoulder in a bid to re-grab his friend’s attention.

            ‘I’m sorry.  I’m listening, I promise – continue.’ 

            ‘So – here’s the bit that will interest you – it’s about Douglas...’

 

-+-

 

 **Charlie (to Anders):** You tell him?  Do I need to knock sense into you?

 **MissD (to B Anderson):** U need sumwher to stay, angel?  Charlie-boi told me abt u + ur X. 

 **Blaine (to Charlie):** I can’t believe you told Miss D. about the kiss! - B

 **Charlie (to Anders):**   Sue me. 

 **Blaine (to Charlie):** Don’t tempt me. You are a terrible friend. – B

 **Charlie (to Anders):** Don’t go throwing shade at me now.  You tell D or not?

 **Blaine (to Charlie):** He’s taken the week off to spend time with me before we go to China. – B

 **Charlie (to Anders):** duck

 **Charlie (to Anders):** *fuck

 **Blaine (to Charlie):** Understatement. – B

 **Charlie (to Anders):** Actually it’s perfect.

 **Blaine (to Charlie):**?????

 **Charlie (to Anders):** You said you wanted more time with him.

 **Blaine (to Charlie):** Yes………………. – B

 **Charlie (to Anders):** duck this.  Gimme a sec.

**_Incoming call from Charlie_ **

Blaine glares at his phone and is mocked by a picture the blonde took of himself when they had been trashed one evening back when Blaine had stayed at the other man’s place the last time Douglas had been in China.  In the picture, Charlie is all gleaming green eyes and white teeth – he looks like a predator.  Blaine lets out a quiet huff and rolls onto his side.  He stares briefly up at the pristine ceiling of his and Douglas’ bedroom – his eyes tracing the outlines of the woven lily-pads that form the intricate art nouveau cornicing.  Perhaps he had been reading into Charlie’s words too much – after all, there is a lack of tonality in text which does lend itself to misunderstandings...  Begrudgingly he accepts the call willing to give his only remaining friend the benefit of the doubt. 

            ‘How is this “perfect”, Charlie?  Oh, and thanks for actually talking to me – it’s almost like you’re my friend or something.’

            ‘Okay – take a breath and count to ten, Anders.  No one’s dead.  Relax.’ 

He grits his teeth and rolls his eyes, but Charlie is talking again before Blaine has the chance to retort. 

‘So, you kissed Kurt - so what?  To be honest I thought this would happen _months_ ago.  Look, this is how it works: young guys like us we have two options in life – we can “fall in love”, repeatedly, with other young, beautiful boys who are just like us and live happy and broke until we finally hate each other ad infinitum, ad nauseum.    _Or_ , we can settle down with a man who can provide for us.  Now this guy _needs_ us because we are youth and vitality (something they no longer have) and they _like_ looking after us, and we _like_ being looked after – it’s security, and it’s easy.  Yeah – the older guys, they go off sex, and most of them only want to top when they can get it up, but it’s not exactly a hardship is it, _and_ there are plenty of “option 1” boys to occupy our other needs.  Get it?’

            ‘You really are something, Charlie.’

            ‘Don’t pretend you’re better than me, Anders.  Look at what you’re doing.’

            ‘I love him.’

            ‘No one is doubting that.  I’d love anyone who bought me Barker Black too.  I’m kidding, I’m kidding!’  Charlie giggles.  It is possible that he is already drunk.  ‘It is possible to love more than one person at a time you know.  The point is – you need to think about your future and where you want to be.’

Blaine squeezes the back of his neck with his free hand in a vain attempt to loosen the knotted muscles there.

            ‘Anders, you still there?’

            ‘Yes.’  It is forced and Blaine’s surprised he does not break his teeth from gritting them so hard.

            ‘You need to have a serious think about what you want from life, alright?  You choose to give this up you say goodbye to that penthouse, and to tailored clothes, and swanky restaurants – and for what?  An enthusiastic fuck and “love”?  Be realistic and promise me you’ll think about it, alright?’  Blaine cannot bring himself to answer over the bile in his throat – it seems that Charlie takes the hint because all Blaine receives is a tight ‘Glad we had this chat.’

Blaine takes a moment and stares up at the ceiling again as if the answers were hidden somewhere in the tangled motif of lilies and vines.  To Blaine the lilies look as if they are being strangled today – smothered by the uniform repetition of the fluid frieze.  He imagines a weed and algae choked pond; he finds himself drowning in it.

            ‘That was very educational, Charlie.’  He mutters.

The headache he had been fighting off since waking that morning seems to have come back with a vengeance, and he wants nothing more than to hang up the phone and…and what?  He has no idea.  Douglas is presently cooking something that smells like a mixture of guilt and shame.  He wants to talk to a friend, and he hates that the first person he can think of is Kurt.  Desperate for a distraction he changes the topic.  ‘So – tell me all about that guy from last night?’

            ‘Not much to tell.  Tall, dark, dreamy – but complications ensued.’

            ‘Complications?’

            ‘He was a friend of Miss D.’s.’

            ‘Like that’s stopped you before.’

            ‘True.’  Charlie’s chuckle is dark in Blaine’s ear.  ‘We had a really good night anyway.’

            ‘Don’t tell me _you_ ended up buying _your own_ drinks?’  Blaine takes pleasure in layering mock surprise into his voice, and Charlie’s resultant obvious frustration with the inadvertent revelation.  He can almost taste the blonde’s revulsion and discomfort.

            ‘Yes, yes – laugh it up, Anders.  No.  Turns out he’s a friend of your Kurt’s.’

            ‘He’s not mine.’  An image of a man seated across from Kurt in a café – hands entwined – rushes Blaine’s vision as the name and the face snap together with an almost audible _click_.  It’s utterly irrational, but his pulse speeds up and his lungs contract regardless.

            ‘No.  Of course he’s not.’  Blaine ignores the sarcasm in the hope of gaining more information – he is rewarded by Charlie’s quiet _huff_ of a laugh.  ‘No – we didn’t talk about you.  Much anyway.  Ha!  No, Elliot’s a nice guy – like, a genuine _nice guy_.  Too many tattoos and he wears too much make-up for my tastes, but that’s what happens when you grow up with a drag queen for a friend I guess.  Anyway – I have to dash.  Going out tonight again by the by if you’d like to join?’

            ‘Can’t –’

            ‘- Of course, of course – Douglas is “making time” for you, I remember.  Well – enjoy!’

            ‘Thanks?’

            ‘Think about where you want to be in 5 years – 10 – 20!  Think about it.’

It is as if Charlie pulled the trigger:

_“It’ll be great for the next ten, maybe fifteen, years, but what happens when he’s seventy and you’re in your prime, Blaine?”_

Fragments of half-repressed conversations splinter like ice in his veins and Blaine fights back the urge to vomit. 

            ‘I…I will.  Thanks, Charlie.’

            ‘Anytime.’

Blaine’s hands are sweating as he ends the call.  He scrolls though his contacts in search of the number he has no right to use; the number he should have called…  His index finger hovers over the name.

            ‘Blaine?’

Douglas’ call derails him, and he quickly pops the phone back into his pants pocket before heading into the kitchen – the battery probably could not have taken another call anyway.  The other man smiles at him as if his mere presence makes things better and Blaine’s throat dries to cotton-in-the-Caribbean-sun.  The table is actually set for once with a pristine, white tablecloth; there are three kinds of glasses on the table, and not only is the silverware out, but there are candles.  Douglas pulls the chair out for him and Blaine takes a seat automatically.

            ‘Are you alright, darling?’

Douglas’ concern is palpable, and Blaine struggles to focus enough to respond. 

            ‘This is incredible.’  His voice comes out breathless and airy.

The man across from him lights up; eyes molten and sparking with flickering flames.

            ‘I meant what I said this morning, Blaine.  I will make it up to you.’ 

Blaine’s heart twists – this man, this kind, generous, gorgeous man is the man Blaine had been missing.  His re-appearance should be joyous, but Blaine finds himself wanting to scream at him instead.  Why could Douglas not have had this sudden revelation a couple of weeks – months - ago? 

The other man pours impossibly dark wine from the decanter into the first of the glasses, and Blaine finds himself watching Douglas’ hands rather than meeting his eyes.  He toasts on cue and drinks deeply - the wine smells thick and heady; it looks like blood.

 

-+-

 

            ‘I’m going to kill him.  No – that’s too quick; I’m going to sneak into his place and cut up all his clothes while he watches, and _then_ I’m going to kill him.’

Rachel glances over to Santana who is obviously trying her hardest not to laugh at Kurt as he paces, a furious animation, across the loft.  The fact that Santana is being sensitive(ish) to Kurt’s ranting just drives home how much she genuinely does care to Rachel – but there is no time to marvel at the fact – she honestly fears that Kurt will have a heart attack or an aneurism if she does not intervene in the next few seconds.

            ‘I’m sure he only said something because he was worried about you…’  Rachel tries to placate him, but receives only a glare from the furious man before her.  Santana throws her a withering look, and takes a pacifying step towards their friend her arms held strategically open.

            ‘Look, Kurt – truth is I made him tell me.  I knew you and Sparkles the Rock-Gay had a secret meeting and that he took you to see that creepy Doctor for your check-up.  I figured with all the weird behaviour in the last 24 hours you were going to die or something…’

            ‘Gee – thanks ‘Tana.’ 

            ‘How was I supposed to know it was going to be all about Frodo _again_?  Not that we’re surprised.  I mean – you _did_ ditch Berry with your dad to go mack with him, didn’t you?  I mean – I’d have figured it out even if Elliot hadn’t told me - you blush whenever you look at the couch.  And I don’t mean you flush a little pink – you go full on _beetroot_ from your roots to your shoulders.  So, either Blanderson’s got the world’s best game (in which case – kudos for letting that slip out of your life for so long), or you my friend, were in desperate need of a maintenance-fuck.’

Rachel has to hand it to the other woman – she has an odd directness to her, and she may show her affections in peculiar ways, but she does get results, even if she does take it a little too far, and is more than a little close to the line sometimes.  Who is she kidding?  Santana is so far _beyond_ the line that the line may as well be on the moon.

            ‘Alright, thank you, Santana –’  Rachel takes Kurt’s hand and tries to lead him to take a seat at the table (Santana had been right about Kurt’s new aversion to their sofa), but apparently the other woman was not finished.

            ‘- I mean, come on, Kurt.  You broke up with him for cheating _on_ you, and then you actually enable him to cheat again _with_ you.  He _is_ still with that older guy, right?  Or did he leave Douglas for you?  How does it feel to be on the other side this time?’

            ‘Enough, Santana.  This is not helping.’  Rachel glares at the taller woman, but Santana just shrugs. 

            ‘No, Rachel – she’s right.  I told him I still loved him, I kissed him, he kissed me.  We stopped before it went too far, and he went home.  The end.  Now, can we talk about something else?’  Kurt pulls away from her hold and makes for their living area as if proving a point.

            ‘Come on, Kurt.  That’s not the end.’  Rachel throws a pleading glance to Santana in the desperate hope that she may take the hint for once and use some tact.

            ‘Wow.  I thought you slept with him or something.  You only kissed?  Tell me something Kurt, when Blaine cheated on you before – did he go all the way or was it just a kiss?’  Tact and Santana are not bedfellows.  ‘Was it even a kiss?  And if that’s what just a kiss does to you then I’m not sure what I’m missing out on but it would explain why Berry went all fag-hag for him for a while.’

Rachel does not catch Kurt’s expression as Santana’s head is in the way, but she does not exactly need to to know that that topic will not be a fruitful one.

            ‘That’s not important right now, Santana.  What Kurt _needs_ are his friends and a good distraction.’  She aims her brightest smile in Kurt’s direction and none-too-gently nudges Santana in the ribs as she passes her to join her friend in an attempt of projecting positivity and solidarity.  She’s not even a bar into “Not While I’m Around” when Kurt interrupts her.

            ‘Actually, what Kurt _needs_ is to not have this conversation.’  He stands, strides past both women, and closes his bedroom “door” behind him.  The curtain catches a little and Kurt almost rips it as he tugs it closed.  Rachel winces in sympathy with the fabric. 

 

-+-

 

Kurt pulls a pillow over his head as the opening music to _The Hobbit_ starts.  He would not put it past Santana to have gone out specially to buy the DVD just for this purpose.  He grits his teeth and checks his phone again.  _No messages_.

He pulls Bruce’s arm around himself – he feels cold to his core, and the dismal weather is doing nothing to ease the fact.  Without having to check he knows that the rain is still pouring down outside – the temperature has dropped significantly too so it will probably freeze and snow soon, after all, it is December in New York.  There should be snow by now.

The pillow does nothing to muffle the sounds of Rachel and Santana arguing – Kurt wants nothing more than to leave the apartment…but he has nowhere to go.  To top it off the weather is terrible so he cannot even just go for a walk and some fresh air.  His vision blurs slightly and he realises that he is breathing too quickly.  He struggles to breathe.

Kurt stands, regardless of how the blood rushes from his head causing his already hazy vision to temporarily black out, and strides with as much purpose as he can muster towards the door.  He pulls on the nearest boots he can find, and, ignoring his friends, heads out into the city. 

It is only when he exits the building that he realises he forgot both a coat and an umbrella.

 

-+-

 

_‘So let me get this straight – Miss D is friends with Blaine’s friend Charlie, and Charlie used to go out with Adrian.  My doctor Adrian.  Who just so happens to be Douglas’ ex.?’_

_‘Yep.’  Elliot is nodding and Kurt frowns at him.  ‘That Charlie is a total piece of work, by the way.  No idea what Miss D., or Blaine for that matter, see in him.’_

_‘What do you mean?’_

_‘Right, so as far as I can gather – bearing in mind most of this is second-hand from Miss D. via Charlie so take it with a pinch (or pitcher) of salt, alright?’_

_Kurt raises an eyebrow, but nods regardless because this – gossip – is exactly what he needs right now.  Anything to make himself feel better, even if it is garbage…  Elliot seems satisfied and crowds a little closer to Kurt conspiratorially._

_‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you!  So, from what I gather Douglas and Adrian were together a long time, but it was like fifteen years ago, and back then being out was a lot more hush-hush for professional men in the city.  Doctor Adrian didn’t want to jeopardise his career, and Douglas wanted to make a commitment…  You can guess what happened.  They went their own ways and then about five years ago Charlie meets Adrian at a gentlemen’s’ club he and Douglas had been members of, and Adrian falls head-over-heels.  Adrian comes out for Charlie -’_

_‘That must have been horrible for Douglas.’_

_‘Yeah.  Apparently he went complete recluse, like overnight.’_

_‘So, what happened with Charlie and Adrian?’_

_‘Well, now, according to Miss D. Charlie’s high maintenance – he has_ expensive _tastes, and he had a couple of guys going at once.  Same MO – all society, all older… get where this is going?  I didn’t want to say anything but I don’t think Charlie is a good influence…don’t get me wrong – Miss D. is my_ sister _and I love her – but she’s not_ her _around Charlie.  I mean – last night was fun and all, but_ poppers _and “good times” are not my thing, you know?’_

 _Kurt stares blankly across the carriage of the subway car – his brain is desperately trying to soak in the new information but it feels like a barrage of flotsam.  He has no idea what any of it means – no idea what to_ do _with any of it.  Hell, he has no idea what is truth or exaggeration here, but it settles uneasily in his stomach like stodgy overcooked porridge curdling with the recycled air._

-+-

 

            Kurt has no idea whether Sebastian will be in, but he feels like he is out of options.  He needs to talk to someone a little removed – someone who knows both him and Blaine (as much as it pains him to admit it).  His lack of appropriate attire for the weather has left him shivering and soaked – he feels wretched.  Since Elliot had told him about Adrian, Charlie, and Douglas, Kurt had found himself feeling _worse_ not better.  He tries not to think about it, and instead hops from one frozen foot to the other whilst he waits for Sebastian to answer the intercom and buzz him up.

Fortunately he does not have to wait too long – Sebastian is home.

 

-+-

 

            ‘I knew there was something about Charlie that I disliked.  He just seemed – I don’t know – weasel-ey…’

Sebastian tops up Kurt’s mug with coffee from the French Press as he talks, and Kurt tries not to cringe as that is exactly what he had once thought of the man seated beside him, though he thinks the animal-likeness he used was “ferret” they are the same family after all. 

Kurt had not intended on telling Sebastian what Elliot had told him – he has no idea how much of it is actually true after all, and it is not exactly any of his business, but it had somehow all come flooding out anyway.  It does nothing to relieve the ache in his chest when he discovers that Sebastian knows Charlie, however, because Sebastian knows Charlie through _Blaine_. 

            ‘Before you even go there Kurt you have to know that Blaine’s not like that - Blaine’s not with Douglas for his money, alright.’  Sebastian halts Kurt’s thoughts, and Kurt tries to remember to breathe again.

            ‘No.  No – I know.  He’s…he’s not like that.  God, no.  I…’

            ‘You told him, didn’t you?  You told Blaine you still loved him.  Goddammit, Kurt.  That’s what all this is about.  What exactly do you want from me here?  You _know_ he’s not talking to me.’

Kurt glances down at his hands.  Both men fall silent in their own thoughts and, not for the first time that day, Kurt wonders how exactly he ended up caught in this giant web of a mess.  Sebastian is the first to break the silence and what he says adds another thread to the tangle.

            ‘Did you know Rachel’s been texting Doug?’

            ‘“Texting” texting or _texting_ texting?’

            ‘That makes absolutely no sense, Kurt.  I mean she and Doug have been talking.  I think he likes her.  A lot.’

            ‘They met for like five minutes a-ges ago.’

            ‘I know.  He called the other day – apparently his grandmother is hosting this big party and is summoning the whole family up to their place in Southampton.’

            ‘Well, Blaine and Douglas will be in China apparently…so…I guess they won’t be in attendance.’

Sebastian makes a face at the obvious bitterness in Kurt’s admission.

            ‘Well – Doug’s planning on inviting Rachel to go with him.’

            ‘Wow.’

            ‘Yeah.’

            ‘She’s never said anything.’

            ‘Why would she?  Were I her I’d not want to mention anything to do with Blaine or Douglas to you either.’

Kurt glances down at his hands then, unable to meet Sebastian’s eyes.  He has been a terrible friend, he realises.  He feels torn and confused – he guesses a part of him thought that after Finn…that Rachel would never move on.  Mentally he kicks himself for assuming – for all he knows, Rachel and Doug may have just become good friends.  He makes a note to talk to his brunette friend when he goes home later – he needs to step up and stop moping, he needs to find himself again in the ragged ruins of this shambled semblance of “self” he has built.  With quiet renewed determination he finishes his coffee and turns to better face the man beside him.

            ‘Alright, this is what’s going to happen – you are going to call Blaine and you are going to talk to him and be the friend you said you were because it seems to me that leaving him with Charlie’s influence  is a terrible idea.  I am going to stop mooning over Blaine – I made my position clear, the ball is firmly back in his court – and I am going to go and be there for Rachel.  Got it?’

            ‘Ah - I see now what Blaine saw in you – you are kind of hot when you get bossy you know that?’  Sebastian laughs at him, and Kurt simply glares in response.  The other man shakes his head in what looks like amused resignation and Kurt smiles a little as he knows victory when he sees it.

 

-+-

 

            After Kurt had left (with one of Sebastian’s umbrellas and a borrowed coat) Sebastian had promptly fixed himself a whiskey – he had not wanted to show Kurt how much their conversation had affected him, but now, in the silence of his own space, once again empty, he feels able to slowly process.  He contemplates the situation as a whole – as if he were an outsider looking in – and in a way he is.  He is the most removed from the situation after all.

When he finally picks up the phone it is not Blaine’s number that he dials.  Instead he finds himself on google.  It is not long before he finds the number he had been looking for – after all, how else were medical professionals to get business?

            ‘Good evening, this is Dr. Richmond’s office - Marjorie speaking - how may I help you?’   

            ‘I would like to make an appointment, please.’

 

-+-

 

            The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started and a bone-deep frost had settled, freezing sodden earth into a deadly adventure course.  Thankfully the snow the weather channel had threatened had yet to rear its fluffy white head; Blaine felt thankful because the last thing he needed was pure, virgin snow to blanket his world.

The past few days had blurred into one endless torture for Blaine.  Douglas was charming, and warm again, and Blaine did not deserve any of it.  Douglas, now that he was actually paying attention to Blaine again, was not oblivious to Blaine’s discomfort, but instead of trying to get Blaine to talk to him he had instead started over-compensating with affection, and gifts.  The result was, unsurprisingly, compounding the problem.  Which, in turn, made Douglas try harder.

Douglas was getting agitated – and Blaine could not exactly blame him.  Everything the older man suggested Blaine went along with in an attempt to make Douglas happy, but by not offering an opinion or an alternative or an input of any type, Blaine was accidentally maintaining a distance that had never been there before.  They had used to play-argue in the beginning – that was gone now and Blaine had no idea how to get it back – he was too scared of his suggestions being taken as an insult or as a suggestion that he was in some way dissatisfied with Douglas’ plans.  Blaine felt like he could not win.

In an attempt to make things easier (and partly as a way to hide) Blaine had begun packing for China for the both of them – it had turned out to be difficult because he had never been there before – hell, he had never packed for two before, let alone for travel that would last (potentially) months.  How much do you take with you?  How many days do you pack for?  How much do you plan to buy over there?  How does laundry service work – do the clothes need to be pre-labelled or something?

It is in a state of bewildered frustration that Douglas had found him – half buried in a pile of clothes while he attempted to work out how many pairs of socks they would need to take with them each. 

            ‘Blaine?’

He emerges from between towers of immaculately folded shirts and pants – on any other day he would have found Douglas laughing at him, for the sight should have been amusing.  But Douglas is not even smiling.

            ‘What’s the matter?’

            ‘Uh…  I…we have to go to Southampton.’  Blaine’s eyes quickly take in details he had not noticed immediately – in Douglas’ hand there is a slip of heavy linen paper and Blaine knows immediately who sent the letter.  The other man’s shoulders are drawn and his eyes are red-rimmed.  Blaine carefully manoeuvres his way to Douglas’ side and gently takes the letter from him.

            ‘When?’

            ‘Tonight.’

He discovers a second piece of paper tucked within the first – what he sees forms a lump and catches in his throat.

            ‘I’ll get some things together and then we can talk, alright?  You need to phone Penny and let her sort things out – she can send someone out to China in your stead.’  The sight of Douglas looking so lost terrifies him and he finds himself pulling the other man into an embrace.  He rubs soothing circles into his back until the other man breaks beneath him; pressing kisses into his neck as if he cannot believe Blaine had not just run away screaming.  Blaine does not utter another word beyond soothing hums – there is nothing he can say.  Nothing will make this better – they are not ready for this but the choice has been taken from them.

He glances again at the paper – it is a proof for an announcement for The New York Times’ wedding section.

 

_Mr. and Mrs. Douglas Graeme Chambers II of Southampton, New York, announce the engagement of their eldest son, Douglas Graeme Chambers III, to Blaine Devon Anderson, son of William and Pamela Anderson of Westerville, Ohio.  Mr. Anderson, a student of Law at Columbia, presently resides in New York City.  Mr. Chambers graduated magna cum laude from Harvard, achieved his Master of Architecture Degree from Columbia University's Graduate School of Architecture, Planning and Preservation, and an M.A. from the University of Cambridge.  Mr. Chambers works at his father’s architecture firm, D.G. Chambers & Sons of 160 W. 71st Street, New York, also of Jermyn Street, London.  A wedding date shall be announced shortly._

 

They are out of time and he has absolutely no idea what to do.

 

-+-


	6. Needle and Thread

### Needle and Thread

           

            Blaine had eventually managed to talk Douglas down from the ledge, reassuring him that everything would be alright – Blaine _had_ agreed to this after all, and _yes_ it was sooner than they had anticipated but, as Douglas had pointed out bitterly, it was likely to just be his mother’s way of controlling the situation. After all – the announcement is a proof – who knows when (or if) Julia actually intends on sending it to print.

A couple of phone calls later and Douglas’ PA, Penny, had again proven her worth by managing to set up a series of video-conferences, and organising for Darrel, Douglas’ long-serving protégé, to head out in the boss’ stead. The knowledge comes with a peculiar mix of disappointment and relief for both of them, but neither know quite how to discuss it.

It is Douglas who suggests they purposefully delay heading out to the Summer Palace much to Blaine’s surprise – it seems a little passive aggressive, but Blaine is in no mood to argue. Exhausted, Douglas helps tidy away the newly erected jungle of clothing and the two of them fall like trees into bed.

In the relative safety of darkness Blaine allows Douglas to take comfort in him, safe in the knowledge that his partner will be unable to make out Kurt’s claim on Blaine’s neck. However, once Douglas is sated and fast asleep, the younger makes certain to set an alarm so that he will be up before Douglas in time to don another turtleneck sweater to cover his guilt like a cheap Band-Aid. The other man must have noticed Blaine’s new habit, but as usual, says nothing.

 

-+-

 

            The next day is a barrage of phone calls – Douglas barely has time to breathe between them. Blaine keeps his head down and simply does what he can for the other man – be that ensure he eats and drinks, or something as simple as staying out of the way. He purposefully does not dwell on events and focuses entirely on the present – on helping Douglas – so when the shrill call of the house-phone echoes throughout the penthouse like a furious spirit summoning them, Blaine does not hesitate to answer the call.

The voice is not one he recognises – the accent is British. He frowns a little but takes down the message, as well as the gentleman’s name and number, before dialling off. The man has mentioned his desire to finalise negotiations for a quote Douglas had allegedly given, but surely Blaine would have heard if Douglas had been quoting for a job in England? Frowning slightly, he heads for Douglas’ study, turning the message-bearing post-it in his fingers idly. He pauses outside the door and waits until he is certain that Douglas has finished his latest call before nudging open the heavy door – he will be damned if he knocks in his own home.

The older man smiles wearily when he notices Blaine.

            ‘You just had a call from a Mr. Fosker – he left his number and requests you call back to finalise negotiations.’

            ‘Excellent. That is fantastic news. Thank you.’ There is a tired tilt to Douglas’ voice that Blaine dislikes instantly.

            ‘It is?’

Douglas nods and gently takes the note from Blaine’s outstretched hand, reads it, then reaches for his phone.

            ‘Fosker invited me to submit a design for the new headquarters for his international engineering firm in Birmingham, England – he also wanted designs for new showrooms that will be rolled out globally…’

            ‘Oh. A business makeover then?’

            ‘Precisely.’ Douglas’ eyes lighten with amusement and Blaine is uncertain what he did to have had such an effect - it rankles.

‘So – when exactly where you planning on telling me?’

The other man pauses mid-dial, frowning slightly.

            ‘I didn’t want to start another argument before I knew whether or not it would be necessary.’

            ‘Why would there be an argument?’

            ‘Because it would involve moving to the UK to set everything up for six months - maybe a year – operating from the London office.’

            ‘Oh.’ Blaine swallows thickly. His mind is racing and he struggles to hold himself together. The last thing he wants to do in that instant is fight and prove Douglas’ fears justified. He is so sick of fighting. ‘Before you take that call could we maybe discuss this?’

            ‘Of course.’ Douglas hangs up to Blaine’s relief - in that instant he is utterly determined to be adult and _worthy_.

            ‘I think it is an excellent opportunity for you and you should take it. If he offers it to you – and he will because you are amazing at what you do – you should take it. You don’t need to worry about me. I’m not going to go off the rails like I did with China –’ He’s rambling, he knows he is, but Douglas saves him.

            ‘Actually, I was hoping you would join me. You’d like London, I think – we could look into getting you into one of the performing arts universities there. A fresh start so to speak. That is…if you would like to, obviously.’

Dark eyes grip him tightly and Blaine finds himself nodding consent before he can process what this would mean for him. Douglas’ smile is brilliant in that instant – he looks younger then, but Blaine cannot trust himself to form words. Instead he reaches over and places the phone back in Douglas’ hand before leaving the room. He does not wait for the result – he is not sure what he wants to hear – instead, he wanders blindly until he finds himself in the piano room. He cannot bear to sit at the instrument; so instead, he heads over to a window and stares blankly out onto the street below. He imagines he is his old-self, before New York, before all _this_. He wonders what that Blaine would think of this mess he had become. It used to be so simple – he knew exactly where his life would lead and he had been happy…

He makes a small bet with himself – if Douglas gets the job he will go with him to London. A fresh start looks appealing. He is _exhausted_ to his bones – he is utterly conflicted (not by Charlie’s utterly awful advice, however – he is not gone enough to think that _that_ could be an answer, thank you very much), but what _does_ it say about him that Benedict Charles is his only friend? As much as he is loath to admit it – maybe Douglas _had_ been right about Charlie…

Blaine gently rests his head against the ice-cold pane and sighs – his breath fogs the glass and he watches the slow spread-contract-spread-contract – a heartbeat of exhalation. His thoughts drift back to blue eyes and impossibly soft lips. Kurt loves him – at least, he _said_ he did, and in that instant, back in Kurt’s arms for a moment, Blaine had felt as if things were going to be alright. He had glimpsed what his life would have been – the two of them making pancakes and coffee on lazy Sunday mornings together… but then Kurt had pulled away and that familiar hardness had crept back into the other man, and Blaine had lost him again.

Blaine ran a fingertip through the condensation on the windowpane and let his thoughts meander without the rosy hue of summer to the first signs of that _stiffness_ in Kurt – when he had started to withdraw inch by torturous inch from Blaine. From a distance Blaine can see it now and he understands, at least, he thinks he does. Kurt had started to pull away from him back in the last weeks of his final year at McKinley – he had known that Blaine would not be joining him, and Blaine reasons that it was just the way Kurt dealt with emotional situations – he _retracted_ out of self-preservation.

He huffs out a laugh because Blaine wishes in that instant that he could do the same. But he cannot – he has always worn his emotions for all to see – he has other defence mechanisms at his disposal.

~ _Like running away_ ~

~ _Like denial_ ~

~ _Like cheating_ ~

He fists a hand into his un-styled hair and tugs lightly. He desperately wants to escape – the penthouse is stifling. Or perhaps it is Douglas, who had been _certain_ that Blaine would bolt as soon as he had learnt of Julia’s letter. It had torn something within him to see the utter defeat in Douglas’ eyes…

How had everything gone so wrong?

He briefly considers calling Sebastian, but he instantly decides against it – he needs to work this out for himself. He cannot dump his baggage at Sebastian’s feet and beg him to help Blaine sort out the mess – not after they had parted last.

The shrill call of the landline interrupts Blaine’s thoughts again, and he automatically heads to silence it, but the _ping_ of the call being answered halts him where he stands. Instead he pads his way through the cream hallways and curls, feline, in the red leather chair of the library. The thick vanillin scent is a comforter and he allows it to bury him. He dreams two lives in parallel – in London and New York – two very different cities, two very different men. One new start, one restart. He dreams of business functions in formal wear and ornate unveiling parties - imagining the thrill of discovering a new city’s hidden secrets and making them his own. He dreams of the loft and NYDADA; of performing duets in sweet bohemian domesticity. Of fractured blue eyes and of swirling brown; of betrayal and tears and hurt and angry words spat like cobra venom; of pillars of ice weeping molten chocolate.

When he wakes he is none the wiser – Guilt and Unease settle deep in the cage of his bones; gnashing and gnawing as two mangy and starving mutts on the feast of Blaine’s insides. He is powerless to sooth them for he opened the doors and let them in - now they are free to feast on him.

 

-+-

 

Douglas had purposefully left his cell behind when he had dragged Blaine out for dinner – back to the Lebanese restaurant of their first “date” together. There is something cathartic about sharing a meal – it is _social_ and _animal_ and utterly _human_. They begin to _talk_ again – not about Douglas’ work, not about China or London, not about Engagements or Julia or being summoned – but about little things. It is the smallest stitches, Blaine muses, that make the bond between two different fabrics all the stronger in the end.

Perhaps it is the effect of the wine; Blaine slowly becomes aware that Douglas’ breathing is a little off, and as the hours trickle by Blaine notices that Douglas seems a little stiff - as if something is on his mind. Blaine frowns a little, and Douglas responds with a small smile. The other man’s eyes are dark in the half-light of the restaurant, and Blaine recognises the hunger there – but there is something else too – a vulnerability and uncertainty that Blaine wants to take from him and burn.

            ‘Blaine – I wanted to thank you.’ Douglas’ voice reflects the uncertainty in his eyes, and Blaine’s expression softens in concern. Something is different between them – the dynamic shifted at some point and Blaine kicks himself mentally for missing it because he feels adrift now with no clue to guide him. His pulse revs in response and he does his best to regulate his breathing, but instead of slowing and calming, his breathing synchs with that of the man across from him. The increase in the frequency of Douglas’ breathing serves to amplify Blaine’s own like they are nothing but two harmonies in a confined space – echoes and reverberations – notes of the same constructive chord.

            ‘What for?’ The sound is hollow in his ringing ears. His palms are sweating.

            ‘For being so supportive of me.’ The man across from him glances down before sweeping his eyes back up to rest upon Blaine. He reaches and gently takes one of Blaine’s hands in his own. ‘I know I can be an ass – I allowed myself to get bogged down in work and I froze you out, and I cannot promise that it will never happen again… But I can promise to always treasure you. I can promise to listen to you and to respect you. I would have continued to sleepwalk through life without you - you were the wakeup call I never knew I needed, Blaine. I know that I can be difficult, hell, I can be downright intolerable, and I know you’re miserable here… I want nothing more than to make you happy, Blaine, but I need you to talk to me. I need you to call me out some times - to stand by my side as my partner if you’ll have me. I know we talked about this before – but things change, and these past few months have not been easy – but I have _never_ been more certain about anyone or anything in my life than I have been about you. This is not about mother’s note, and it is not about London or China or New York – this is about you and I, Blaine, and I want you to be sure… but I’d like you to have something, and I’d like you to wear it if you’d like to…. I’ve had it for quite a while now, actually.’

The something is red Moroccan leather and brass; it finds its own way into Blaine’s hand. Nimble fingers move, and the box is opened where it rests in his palm. The ring is platinum – twin bands bracket an impossibly intricate motif of vines, the leaves of which are rose gold, but nestled within and almost completely hidden is a tiny bird.

‘I had it made after you asked me. I – you said you liked the mechanical bird I had drawn – the one on the mantle in our sitting room… It’s a warbler.’

            ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.’

Tiny platinum wings delicately frame the yellow diamond of its body; its beak rests open as if caught in mid-song.

Blaine sees a Burberry-esque canary cage cover and a bejewelled casket.

He forces himself to keep breathing and considers it a success.

_Blow the candles out – looks like a solo tonight…_

-+-

 

            Kurt fiddles with sugar packets as Rachel stirs honey into her lemon tea. The brunette is wrapped, as always these days, in a scarf to protect her voice. Kurt fears for himself as the _Funny Girl_ opening night draws closer the _last_ thing he needs right now is a return of Diva Rachel. He clears his throat in a physical attempt to also clear his mind. He is not here for that. He is here to be the friend Rachel needs.

It has nothing to do with Blaine, of course.

            ‘So…When were you going to tell me about Doug?’

Rachel’s eyes widen and she drops the spoon – it pings to the floor in a clatter. Kurt watches as the woman bends to retrieve it, placing it bowl-up on the table. It rocks slightly; presenting a skewed version of the world before coming to rest.

            ‘He’s a nice guy.’

            ‘I’m not saying that he isn’t.’ She nods at that, pausing as if considering what she should say – it feels like a slap to Kurt; Rachel is his friend, she should not have to be delicate around him. He squares his shoulders.             ‘Rach – you don’t have to keep things from me, I’m sorry you feel you do. But I’m here, alright? Come on – talk to me.’ She purses her lips but nods and Kurt sighs.       ‘I know I’ve been distant and difficult –’

            ‘Do you? Kurt, I… God, I feel like I can’t breathe sometimes. I’m up to my ears with rehearsals – and I know how you feel about my quitting NYADA, but I just couldn’t keep both going. I was going to burn out and then I’d have had nothing, Kurt. Nothing. I… You know I used to spend _hours_ on the phone to Finn – even when we weren’t… _together_. He’d always listen, you know? I _miss_ that. He was my best friend.’

A couple of years ago Rachel would have been sobbing by now – but this woman before him is stronger - she holds her head up and maintains eye contact. This Rachel does not need his validation and he feels a fool for thinking that this is what their catch-up would be about. Rachel takes a sip of her cooling tea and shoots Kurt a knowing glance over the top of her cup before placing it back on the table between them.

            ‘Listen, Kurt. I know that it seems complicated, but Doug is just a really sweet guy and it’s nice, you know, to have someone to talk to who is not so incestuously linked to the past… I’ve not told him about what happened with you and Blaine if that’s what you’re worried about. I wouldn’t do that to you – to either of you, but you really need to sort it out, Kurt. It doesn’t just affect you there’s a wider impact.’

            ‘When did you get so old and wise, Ms. Berry?’

She laughs then, and Kurt stares a little at the adult he can glimpse beneath the surface of the shallow, driven surface of his friend. Where was he when she grew up? He feels adrift and left behind.

            ‘You’re coffee’s going to get cold – now drink up. We need to formulate a plan because you my friend are a mess, and I’m going to help you sort it all out.’

            ‘I love you.’

            ‘I know. I am amazing.’

            ‘And so humble.’

His smile feels real in that moment as it reflects hers – there is a spark that Rachel has provided (he had not noticed it go out) and it feels like, if he can just find the right kindling, he may be able to find his way again through the darkness. She reaches across the table and grasps his hand in solidarity, and Kurt marvels at the shift in their dynamic.

 

-+-

 

            ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me, Douglas. I know things have been a bit – strained – over the last couple of years… I just wanted to let you know that I truly regret how it all turned out.’

            ‘It’s…I have to admit – I was surprised by your call, Adrian.’ He shifts uncomfortably in the wooden chair – it is clear that it had been chosen for aesthetics over practicality and his back is starting to play up. _Perfect_.

            ‘I just felt that it was time to try to start over – we _were_ friends first, Diggs.’

 

-+-

 

            _It ended suddenly for Douglas and, looking back, he sees suggestions and indicators that he had been blind to for months before – not that they mattered now. Not that any of it mattered now, but it no longer surprises him when their friends – Adrian’s friends – look at him with pity in their eyes. Like the fickle summer sun, they fade out of his life again leaving no trace that they were ever there at all._

_He is not really sure how five years had passed without him noticing – he supposes that when the usual markers of family events go (Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, Birthdays, Anniversaries) that it becomes harder to mark the months. He had not really been paying attention._

_But knows that he had not expected_ that.

_The Club had been his solace – the one place he could be that man again – the Dalton man, the fresh-faced idealist who had first headed to New York on the back of success at Harvard to read at Columbia. Hiding who he really was – who he preferred – had been easier then, and Douglas had always been able to “pass” - but it had also been a necessity. That was before Adrian, of course. Not that there had not been others before him…but there had been none since._

_The Club was the thing that was supposed to be constant – never changing, a safe place. He would never forget the evening he had met Benedict Charles, draped, as the then-barely-17-year-old had been, over Adrian’s shoulders in a very public display of affection… Apparently the problem had not been Adrian’s desire to keep his relationship and sexual status hush-hush for his career – it had been that_ Douglas _had not been what Adrian had wanted to risk it all for._

_Douglas had considered returning to the London office after Adrian had left him - he had spent a year there after finishing his study in Cambridge after all - but the New York office he had dreamt of, and had spent the better years of his life working towards had finally started to become a success. So he had stayed. He had stayed and squirrelled himself away deep within the building’s walls to wait out the winter for a spring that seemed to never come._

_Back then it had simply been a tiny office with a divider to separate his desk from those of his small workforce, and his receptionist’s. He had been forced to use his apartment as a drawing office – Adrian had always complained that there were always blueprints and drawings cluttering up the place, but Douglas had really had nowhere else to put them. In reality that office had been too small, too hot in the heights summer and beyond freezing in the depths winter, but it had been_ his.

_Adrian had been there throughout the arguments with Douglas’ father – the senior Douglas had been adamant that his son should focus on the London office and not waste his time with New York. Of course, by then, Senior had left the London office to a cousin to operate. The senior Chambers had long-since given up trying to establish a branch in the US and had closed his own office in early 1977 while Douglas had still been boarding at Dalton Academy with his younger brother Roger. Though neither son had been consulted, both had noticed that their father had seemed more than happy to live off his substantial inheritance since his own father’s death in 1976. But Senior did not like it when that little fact was pointed out to him._

_However, it had seemed natural to Douglas to want_ more _though he had had it all – everything he had ever dreamed of by the time he was 30 – a loving partner who was successful in his own right (Adrian was a resident at the New York Methodist Hospital at the age of 26), as well as his own branch of the family business… But the more he had thought about it the more it had rankled – an itch below the surface._

_They had both lost friends in the AIDS epidemic, and by 1998 Douglas had been approaching the big 4-0 with alarming speed. They had been together almost eight years, and Douglas had been tired of attending functions separately, of referring to Adrian as his friend in polite company… The death of his one-time boyfriend, Mark, in 1997 had cemented in Douglas’ mind the fragility of what he had – but he had missed the signs. Adrian had been already lost to him by then._

_The day Douglas had moved premises (to the much larger and purpose-designed present residence of the New York office of D.G. Chambers & Sons) was the day he had arrived back at the apartment he had shared with Adrian for over 5 years to find no trace of the other man remaining._

           

-+-

 

            Douglas was out – apparently something had come up and, as they were due to finally head to the Summer Palace early the next morning, Blaine had sent Douglas on his way with a smile and a kiss not wanting to get in the way or to be any bother. The other man had seemed jittery and resigned, but Blaine could not be completely certain whether it was due to the meeting or due to the events of the previous evening. Truth be told, Blaine felt trapped and he was actually looking forward to spending time by himself as he knew that whatever Julia’s plan was – things were not going to go smoothly for them up in Southampton.

He stares at the ring again where it lies nestled in ivory silk while he fixes his hair – he does not want to get product anywhere near it. He still was not sure what had triggered him to slip it onto his finger – after all, he acknowledged that his first reaction leading him to thoughts of dearly departed Pavarotti (and by extension - _Kurt_ ) was not exactly indicative of someone who was ready for that kind of thing – but he knows that the look Douglas had given him was the reason he had kept it on his finger.

A small huff of resignation and frustration escapes him and he barely remembers to slip the ring back into place on his left hand before he heads out in the hunt for food. Negotiating the frozen sidewalk is hazardous but he avoids most of the risk as Gerry has a car waiting for him by the time he makes it down to the lobby. The older man shoots Blaine a peculiarly knowing smile before holding the door for him and Blaine cannot help but return it with his own confused variation.

 

-+-

 

            The vibrations of his cell phone wake him, and he squints through the appalling and offensive brightness of his screen to see who has the audacity to call at such an ungodly hour. Sebastian’s limbs take their time to follow his orders but he manages to answer the call as soon as the name and accompanying picture burn his retinas.

           ‘Long time, no speak, Killer.’

            ‘I know, I know, Bas. I…god, I’ve been such a sh-shitty friend to you –’

He wants to be furious, but there is something in the tone of Blaine’s voice that makes Sebastian’s heart hammer louder than the shock of being woken in the first place. His friend sounds on the verge of tears; his speech slow and slurring.

            ‘What’s wrong? Where are you?’

            ‘I’m…I’m not re’lly sure…I was out with Charlie. I think…I think he gave me som’thing, but I can’t rem’mber.’

            ‘Blaine, get in a cab and come here, please? Can you do that?’

            ‘Alright.’

The disembodied voice rings every alarm bell Sebastian possesses, and the easy, resigned way that Blaine acquiesces does nothing to erase the unease that grips him fiercely like a vice around his lungs. Blaine hangs up, and Sebastian practically falls out of bed before he has fully managed to untangle his legs from the sheets, but he lands without injury and hurriedly pulls on sweatpants over his pyjama bottoms, and a hoodie too in a bid to battle the freezing ambient. He kicks the radiator as he passes with the heel of his foot in an attempt to coax it into life, and makes his way quickly to his small kitchen. His fingers itch to pour himself something to calm his rapidly fraying nerves, but he resists. Blaine had said Charlie had given him something! Sebastian makes coffee, and tries to recall everything he ever learnt about drugs, their side effects, and how to make someone throw up.

His hands are shaking by the time he opens his door. He does not hesitate before pulling the smaller man against him and holds him tightly to his chest. Blaine is freezing cold and shaking, but he had made it to Sebastian’s so he chalks that up to a win. He leads his friend to the couch and makes Blaine sit, before swaddling him in as many blankets as he can find, and thrusting a large thermos of coffee at him.

He is contemplating whether the blankets are enough or whether he should add towels to the pile, when Blaine finally speaks to him.

            ‘Thank you, B-Bas.’

Blaine’s pupils are dilated, but he clearly knows where he is and who he is with so he is not completely out of it. Sebastian presses the back of his hand to Blaine’s forehead and cheeks, and once he is satisfied that his friend is warming up, he gently settles beside him on the sofa without jostling him. He notices Blaine’s hands then – wrapped as they are around the thermos, and for a second Sebastian regrets not giving his friend a mug so as to warm his hands – but he is distracted by something very shiny.

            ‘What’s that?’

The smaller man looks confused for a moment before he slowly follows Sebastian’s gaze to where it rests on the ring.

            ‘You k-know wha’ “that” is, Bas.’

Sebastian is not sure whether he should be happy that Blaine seems better now he is warming up, or whether he should shake his friend until he gets answers. He grits his teeth and attempts to exercise patience.

            ‘Yes, it’s a ring, Blaine. I’m guessing it’s Douglas’?’ To Blaine’s credit he gives nothing away and Sebastian finds himself edging uncontrollably closer to Option 2: shaking sense into his dark haired friend. He takes a deep breath and counts backwards from ten before deciding to change tactic. ‘Why were you out with Charlie?’

            ‘I saw him, Bas.’

            ‘Who? Kurt? Charlie?’

            ‘No - Douglas.’

            ‘I’d expect that’s going to be a theme in your life seeing as you are wearing the man’s ring.’

The look Blaine throws him is murderous and hurt-puppy all at once and it makes Sebastian’s head spin – he has no idea what to do with that reaction. Does he square his shoulders and argue or does he hug and comfort him? Thankfully Blaine mutters out a response before Sebastian reaches a decision for an appropriate reaction.

            ‘I saw him having dinner with his ex., Bas.’

            ‘And that’s unusual for Douglas?’

Blaine nods and Sebastian watches as all the anger and energy drains from Blaine’s dark eyes, before his friend’s gaze falls to his own lap.

            ‘He…He gave me this over dinner _yesterday_ , Bas, and _tonight_ he’s seeing Adrian for dinner - just the two of them; and there were _candles_ , and _wine_ , and… what does that mean?’

He is at a loss. Adrian and Douglas having dinner together could mean anything and nothing, but Sebastian has a feeling that this could definitely be in large-part his fault – he is the one that called Adrian after all. He swallows, and tries to catch Blaine’s eyes – he will deal with that particular shit-storm later, first things first he needs to find out what Blaine took, and he needs to make sure his friend is going to be alright.

            ‘Why were you with Charlie?’

            ‘I…uh…I didn’t mean to see _them_ – Douglas and… - I wasn’t _spying_ or anything. Douglas has _never_ given me cause to think he’d… he’d _do_ that. He’s better than that…better than me. But…I saw. And I should have gone in there, I mean – I know I should have said something, right? Like when I saw K-Kurt and Elliot… But…I’m so confused, Bas. Charlie told me it’s normal. That I should accept it and that I should be happy to be “looked after”… I kissed Kurt, Bas. I cheated on Douglas, like I cheated on Kurt…but _with_ Kurt... I miss Kurt.’

            ‘Okay, okay, let’s try to stay on track here – you’re jumping all over the rails. I’ll ask questions you answer, got it?’

Blaine nods, and Sebastian feels a headache coming on.

            ‘You went to Charlie after seeing Douglas with Adrian?’

            ‘Yes.’

            ‘Right, that makes sense I guess.’ He pauses and tries not to feel the bitter swell of pride in the knowledge that it looks like he had been _right_ about Charlie after all, and that Blaine should have listened. It should have been _him_ that Blaine confessed to – him that Blaine ran to…not Charlie. Sebastian swallows the fact that Blaine is with him now and not the obnoxious blonde, and continues. ‘So, Douglas gave you that ring last night?’

Blaine nods, and Sebastian leans toward his friend a little.

            ‘So, you said “yes” then? After you and Kurt... even after the knowledge that Kurt still loves you - you accept Douglas?’

            ‘How do you know Kurt still loves me?’ There is a light in Blaine’s eyes and Sebastian realises his mistake a little late. It is instinct that tells him to come clean.

            ‘He was here, Blaine. He came to talk to me. I think he thought I could still talk sense into you or something – some people never learn, I guess.’

            ‘So you and Kurt -?’

            ‘Are _friends_ , Blaine. Kurt and I are, and I never thought I’d ever say this out-loud, but Kurt and I are _friends_.’

            ‘Wow.’

            ‘You’re telling me. So, back to Q&A: You chose Douglas?’

            ‘Yes. I mean…no. Yes? I _think_ so?’

            ‘We’ll file that away under “Blaine is a fricking idiot” and come back to that later.’ Sebastian cannot help it; he rolls his eyes in frustration. ‘If I see that Charlie again I am going to kick his scrawny ass, Blaine. What in the hell were you thinking?’

            ‘I don’t know how to answer that, Bas.’

            ‘How about you try this one: why on Earth would you take something Charlie gave you, huh? What were you trying to do? Self-destruct?’

            ‘He said it would loosen me up.’

            ‘So if I said, “Hey, Blaine – take this it’ll take all the pain away” would you take whatever I gave you? Wait – on second thoughts, don’t answer that. It’s not important _why_ you did something so utterly stupid. All that matters is that you’re alright. And you have yet to convince me of that.’

It is that moment that Blaine chooses to throw off the blankets and dash for the bathroom. Sebastian follows closely and gently rubs his friend’s sweat-soaked back as the man empties his stomach.

 

-+-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I promised this fic was not dead and here's me delivering. Thank you so much to all those who are still with me after all this time. I hope it has been worth it so far. Please know that if it were not for your support and your wonderful, kind words, that I would probably not have carried on. So this is for all of you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
> 
> I know this has been a tough read for some, I've tried to keep things are realistic (yet still *Glee*) as possible - I promise the wait is almost over though. Hang in there! x-X-x


	7. Old Terrain

###  Old Terrain

 

            “Catching up” with an ex is not something that most people find easy or desirable.  It is often awkward and uncomfortable – they have seen you at your most vulnerable; you have shared a part of yourself with them that they will hold forever, and they once had the power to crush you with a word or an action…  To say that Adrian’s phone call had blindsided Douglas would be a gross understatement – he had been floored.  Perhaps that is why he met up with him?  Perhaps he felt he needed to prove that he could be mature about things, especially after the whole _Benedict_ business?  Perhaps it was morbid curiosity?  Whatever the reason, Douglas cannot explain why he did not tell Blaine the truth, or why he did not want Blaine at his side.

Regardless, once the awkward posturing-phase had passed it had actually gone well, much to Douglas’ surprise.  He had not noticed how tense he had been, however, until Adrian had poured their second glasses of wine, loosened his tie, and said:

            ‘These god-awful chairs deserve to be burned!’

They had laughed then – raucous and free, drawing the attention of other patrons and, for once, not caring.

It had been nice - just talking, without any pretence, barely concealed motives, or dark agendas lurking in an almost tangible haze around and between them.  As the wine had rapidly evaporated from bottle(s) to glass to blood, they had simply talked.  Adrian had waxed lyrical about his work and how he actually felt like he was making a difference in the world, but the topic had inevitably turned darker – towards the recent spate of bashings that had hammered the community.

            ‘Blaine’s friend, Kurt, was one of them.’  Douglas adds – his own way of saying _something_.

            ‘I know – I treated him.’

            ‘Oh?’  His eyes flick up from his glass and the ruby-gold liquid swirling within, to meet pale green sincerity and concern.

            ‘It’s part of what made me seek you out actually.’  Douglas frowns and finds his free hand suddenly ensconced within the other man’s – delicate and cold clinical fingers hold firm.  ‘I had an interesting call from a Mr. Smythe…does the name ring a bell?’  Struck dumb by unexpected sense-memory from the touch, Douglas shakes his head though the name does sound familiar.  ‘Regardless, regardless…’  Adrian takes a sip of wine with his free hand and seems to consider his words carefully.  The other man never had been one to say anything without first dissecting it, Douglas muses – perhaps that is why Douglas had been caught so off-guard before?  ‘Mr. Smythe was concerned for your Blaine.  Apparently he has been cavorting about with a certain young cad we both know.’

            ‘Now, Ade – I appreciate your concern, but whoever Blaine chooses to spend time with is not for me to comment upon.’

            ‘Even if that someone is Benedict Charles?’

Douglas swallows – his throat suddenly a little too dry, his hand a little too clammy in Adrian’s cool embrace.  He reaches for his glass to find it empty.

            ‘Even if that someone is Benedict Charles.’  Douglas takes pride in managing to keep his voice steady and detached.  The truth of the matter is that he and Blaine have danced around this very topic on numerous occasions and it rankles him that Adrian of all people should feel the need to comment on it.

            ‘After everything that happened between us, Diggs, I thought _you_ would know better.’

            ‘I do know better, Ade.  I _know_ that Blaine is more than capable of handling himself.  I _know_ that I cannot control him – it is neither in my power, nor is it my place to do so – but I _have_ warned him.’

            ‘What did you tell him?’

            ‘I don’t see how this is really your business…’

            ‘Of course not – of course not.  Let’s turn to lighter subjects, shall we?’           Adrian summons another bottle with a flick of his hand as he catches the eye of a passing waiter.

            ‘Look, it’s getting late – the next couple of days are going to be rough…’

            ‘I’m just a call away if you ever want to talk – I recall how your dear Mother can be.’  It is meant to be a joke – Douglas can tell from the small smile in the creases of Adrian’s eyes, but it does not sit right with him.  Adrian lost his right to talk about Douglas’ family when he left.

            ‘Forgive me if I find your sudden interest in a friendship with me a little suspect…it has been _years_.’  It is part bite, part trap, and he knows it, but his patience is wearing thin with the topic.

            ‘I know.  I find myself quite remiss there.  I just – I have no excuses for what I did to you -’

            ‘We don’t need to talk about that, Ade – it is what it is and it worked out for both of us in the end.’

            ‘You do seem to have done well for yourself.  I met your - I suppose he is your boyfriend now - again by the way.’

            ‘Fiancé.’  The word snaps from a tight jaw and, God help him, it _does_ feel good to rub it in the other man’s face a little – that fact alone (that Adrian still affect him) is enough to make Douglas cringe internally at his own behaviour.

            ‘Oh?  Congratulations are in order then.’  The wine is conspicuously timely in its arrival, and Douglas’ glass is refilled before he can cover it with his hand.  ‘I hadn’t seen an announcement…this is recent?’

            ‘We wanted to be certain…’

            ‘Understood, understood.  I can’t exactly say anything about the age gap, can I now.’

            ‘No.’

            ‘I _can_ see why you would be besotted with him, however.  He is quite charming.  However –’

            ‘Spit it out, Adrian.  I know you – I know how you think; we were together a long time and I know when you want to say something - so spit it out and be done with it.’

            ‘Tetchy tonight , aren’t we?  Fine.  I was just wondering what the story was between your Blaine and my patient, Mr. Hummel – they seemed _close_ , if you know what I mean?’

            ‘That would be because they are.  But, again – this would be my business, not yours.’

            ‘True, true.’  He raises a glass and gestures for Douglas to join him.  ‘To your impending nuptials, my dear Diggs.  I will admit – I thought I would never see the day.  When you stopped coming to the Club I was distraught, I’m not going to lie.  But I do understand.  I’ll admit that the day you reappeared in the Club, my friend, was the day I knew things would be alright.  It is good to see you happy, Diggs.  To you, and your darling, Blaine – may you have a happy life together.’

Douglas accepts the toast – the alcohol warms the ice of the delivery.  He takes the moment to try to see beneath what Adrian projects, but, Adrian had always been an enigma to Douglas, and was that not just the problem?  Once, he had thought himself privy to the other man’s every dream and wish – only to find he had never really known him at all. 

The wine simmers in his belly and an ancient spark of anger catches light.  

            ‘So, quid pro quo, Ade.  Tell me – how did Mr. Charles succeed where I so obviously failed you?’

            ‘Don’t let’s go there, Diggs.  We know how that story ended – you’ve moved on, you’re happy, why rub salt on the wound?’

            ‘Because I deserve to know.  You can’t just waltz back into my life, Adrian.  I _loved_ you, and seeing you again…it brings it all back, so tell me?’  He manages to keep his voice low and measured so as not to draw more attention to their table, but only barely.

Adrian sighs – his fingers tighten minutely around Douglas’ own, as if he is scared the other man will walk away.  Douglas sighs, but does not remove his hand or squeeze reassuringly back in return.

            ‘I was scared.  What we had…I read about your new building by the way – I was right – you were destined for greatness…  Anyway…back then…  My career was just taking off, Diggs.  You know how damaging it would have been for me to “come out” back then – can you imagine?  A doctor coming out in the middle of the AIDS epidemic?  I would have been ruined…’

            ‘I was just sick of the lies and the hiding.  It didn’t have to be _public_!’

            ‘How could it not be?’

            ‘Did you even stop to think how I’d feel?  I came home to find you gone!’

            ‘I still have no idea how you were surprised, Douglas!’

            ‘I shouldn’t have been really – you’d been absent emotionally for months before.’

            ‘And I can never explain how sorry I am for that.’

            ‘Just tell me something – why was _he_ worth it?’

            ‘God knows he wasn’t.  Benedict has this way of making you feel as if you are his sun – he made me believe that I was the love of his life, Diggs.  After you – after I left I was miserable, and you were miserable and _I_ didthat.  That’s all on me.  I know it is…  I can never make that right.  But I met him and he was so passionate and energetic, and…I guess he made me forget.  I was such a fool, Diggs.  Leaving you was the biggest mistake of my life, and as soon as I left I knew I had utterly lost you.  Benedict was the perfect distraction, and I wanted to believe – to believe that I loved him.  So, I let my guard down.  I made a mistake, and it almost cost me my job.  I regret Benedict every day.’

            ‘Thank you for finally being honest with me.’

            ‘Do you think if we had met later things would have been different, Diggs?  I mean – it’s not easy today…  I’m not saying _that_ –’

            ‘We’ll never know.’

            ‘Because of your fiancé?’

            ‘I don’t know, Ade…  Look, how about this – we try again as friends?’

He has no idea what made him reach out.  Probably the wine had a lot to do with it…but the other man’s maudlin expression thawed slightly, and Douglas felt better for reawakening Adrian’s smile.  That reaction alone boggled his mind a little, and for the second time that evening Douglas questioned why he had even agreed to dinner.

 

            By the time he returns home he had begun to sober up – he cannot recall whether they finished that last bottle of wine, but he does remember coffee and an easier flow of conversation once the air and lingering bad blood had finally cleared between them.  Truth be told, spending time with Adrian had turned out to be a good distraction (even if he was going to suffer in the morning for it); he felt a little lighter now he had unloaded some of the baggage he had been left with, and had not thought about his impending return to his ancestral home for _hours_.  He baulks when he realises the time, and instantly feels awful for blowing Blaine off.  However, his guilt turns to sour panic when he realises that Blaine is nowhere to be found – there is a moment when he thinks that it has happened again – but a quick check reveals Blaine’s bag packed and ready for the morning beside his own.  He catches his breath before remembering to check his cell phone to see whether Blaine left an indication of when he would be back.  There are no messages however, so reluctantly he readies himself to attempt to sleep (even though he knows he will not), trusting that Blaine will be back in time to leave for Southampton come morning light.

 

-+-

 

            Blaine makes it back to the penthouse exactly five minutes before the car had been due to collect them.  It is in fact waiting for him, and he does not even have time to say a word to Douglas before climbing in (still wearing _yesterday’s_ clothes) and trusting that his bags were already in the trunk beside Douglas’ own.

If he had not already felt horrifically hung-over and still queasy from the combined effect of whatever it was he had taken the night before, he would have thought that he could not possibly feel worse.  However, the look Douglas gives him changes that – it _can_ always be worse.

They sit in silence – both utterly conscious that they need to talk, but aware that there is unlikely to be a moment to themselves to do so now, for who knows how long.

 

-+-

 

            The house is exactly as Blaine remembers it – cold and imposing - but this time the halls echo with voices.  Doug almost crushes him in a hug the second he spots him, but it is the presence of Rachel that catches him off-guard.  Before he gets a chance to say anything, however, he finds himself being bid to accompany Douglas to their room (thankfully they are in the Blue Bedroom again – at least Blaine knows where that is) under the pretence of helping him find something or other.  As they mount the stairs in utter silence Blaine finds his pulse in overdrive with panic, as well as the strange guilt-compounded-with-jealous-fear over the events of the previous evening.  What if Rachel told Doug about the kiss with Kurt?  Does Rachel even know about it?  Would Kurt have told her?  _Of course he would – they were friends._ Blaine confessed to Charlie, and Bas, hadn’t he? 

Douglas holds the door to the Blue Bedroom open and Blaine enters to find himself staring out of the window onto the immaculate lawns – frozen as they are, they look washed-out like a faded watercolour – and the trees, now baring thick hoarfrost rather than leaves, seem to reach for him with skeletal fingers.  He flinches as Douglas closes the door behind them, and Blaine reluctantly turns to face him.

            ‘I was worried.’

            ‘I know.  I’m…I messed up.’  Blaine can barely look at the concern and pain on Douglas’ face.

            ‘You look awful.’

            ‘Thanks.  I deserve that.’

            ‘What happened?’

            ‘I…’  For a second he considers apologising profusely, begging forgiveness, and submitting, but his head is pounding and he remembers his conversation with Sebastian.  He owes it to himself to find out the truth.  He cannot keep avoiding things.  He needs to know.  He takes a breath and a step forwards.  ‘What’s going on with you and Dr. Richmond?’     

            ‘Nothing.  He’s a friend, Blaine; you know that.’

            ‘I saw the two of you last night, Douglas.  Please tell me what’s going on, because I…I don’t want to jump to any more conclusions.’

            ‘We had dinner as friends.  I should have told you – I honestly have no idea why I didn’t…’

            ‘I thought you were on _business_.  I…I saw the two of you together and no one was looking at you both like they _look_ when you and I go out.  You looked _right_ together –’

            ‘Nothing is going on between Adrian and I, Blaine – I swear to you.’

            ‘What was I supposed to think?’

Douglas sits heavily down on the edge of the enormous and ridiculously ornate bed, and Blaine finds himself slumped against the taller man.  He feels utterly boneless and exhausted – there is a woodpecker trying to dig a grub in his brain out through his temple, and a hoard of rats are nesting in his intestines whilst using his diaphragm as a trampoline.  It hurts to breathe.

            ‘Where did you stay last night?’

            ‘With Bas.  I…I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you about Charlie.’

            ‘What happened?’

            ‘He gave me something…I was so confused, and angry -’

            ‘What did you take?  Are you alright?  Did you go to hospital?’  Blaine swears Douglas’ voice raises at least an octave with each statement; he finds himself being manhandled, and examined for any obvious signs of injury or other damage.

            ‘Hey, hey – calm down.  I’m fine – really!  I was really sick for a while – I honestly felt like I was going to die - but Bas looked after me.  I’m fine now – just have a really, really bad headache so quiet talking would be good.’     

            ‘How could you be so reckless?’

            ‘I know I messed up.  I should have asked you what was going on before letting my fears get the best of me.  I should never have gone to _Charlie_ , and I should not have let him get me drunk and then…  I don’t need you to make me feel worse here.  I’m going to be alright.  I just need a load of water to drink, and a shower…and to maybe sleep for a couple of years…but I’ll be fine.  I’m sorry I made you worry, alright – but if you’d have told me what was going on I wouldn’t have jumped to conclusions -’  He means his last statement playfully but his tirade is cut short when he is crushed slightly in a hug.  Douglas holds him tightly, breathing him in, and Blaine crumples into the other man. 

            ‘You smell vile by the way.’  Blaine mostly feels rather than hears Douglas – the other man’s mouth and nose are nestled against the crown of Blaine’s head.  

He huffs out a little laugh in response, though it is tight, and Blaine feels tears prick the corners of his eyes, but Douglas does not pull away.

            ‘I should really grab a shower before we see any more of your family.  Wouldn’t want to embarrass you.’

            ‘I love you so much, Blaine.’

            ‘I know.’

 

-+-

 

            Somehow Douglas had managed to squirrel them away until that evening – probably, Blaine realised, using some excuse that Blaine was unwell to guarantee them some peace.  He was utterly grateful as he had actually managed to shower and get some rest.  Seemingly Douglas had not slept well the previous night either and so the two had slept through until a discrete knock on their door from Oliver had alerted them that they “may want to get ready for dinner”.

Blaine calmly adjusted Douglas’ bowtie in an attempt to distract the other man – he was still looking at Blaine as an auctioneer would check an antique vase for any signs of damage. 

            ‘I feel _fine_ , Douglas.  I promise.’

            ‘I just worry.  You’ve no idea what Benedict gave you?’

            ‘It was a pill of some kind, but it just made me really, really sick.  I’m sure some food will help – and on that note: I’m pretty certain that your mother will not forgive us being late to dinner seeing as we absolutely missed lunch _and_ we have yet to see her.’

Douglas dips his head in acquiescence but Blaine knows that the other man will be watching him like a proverbial hawk all evening for any signs of illness.  Blaine slips on his own dinner jacket before holding the door and gesturing for Douglas to hurry up.

 

-+-

 

            Blaine had thought that this “family gathering” they had been invited to (well “blackmailed into attending” would be more accurate) would have been simply that – a family gathering – it _was_ almost Christmas after all, and they had not had a similar event for Thanksgiving that Blaine had been aware of.  He was sadly mistaken.

When he entered the dining room he had been glad to have had Douglas’ arm – the room was set for at least thirty people, and was rapidly filling.  Blaine had no idea who three quarters of them were but he spotted Adeline and Roger with Roger Jnr, Doug and Rachel and felt a little less intimidated: at least he had some friends present.  He had been about to head in their direction when he felt Douglas lead him towards a small group of people instead.  Blaine instantly recognised Douglas’ mother, Julia – her white hair was dressed as if for a debutant ball with emerald hair pins to match her silk evening gown.  Blaine took a deep breath and plastered his most charming smile into place.

            ‘Douglas, dah-ling!  So good to see you.  You look so well.  Doesn’t he look well, June?’ 

One of the women in the group looked up in response – she was small in stature, but there was nothing fragile about her.  She tilts her head – sharp eyes flitting from Douglas straight to Blaine appraisingly.  He felt like a piece of meat under her calculating gaze. 

            ‘Indeed, Julia – and who is this?’

            ‘Blaine Anderson, may I introduce June Dolloway.  June is a very dear friend of mine.’

            ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, Ms. Dolloway.’  He is not wholly sure what possessed him, but he takes the woman’s hand and kisses it lightly.

            ‘He’s the one I was telling you about at that charity auction last week – the pianist.’  Julia seems utterly sincere, and Blaine finds himself all the more nervous.  ‘You will play for us after dinner while the men have their whiskey won’t you, Blaine?’

            ‘Uh – Of course.’

Julia gives him a look he cannot quite decipher and Blaine feels Douglas tense beside him.  June continues to watch him as Julia parades Douglas and himself through the rest of the ladies and gentlemen who had gathered around her like swans.  Blaine could not help but notice that June was the only lady in the company who was not wearing a dress – instead she wore an elegant black pantsuit adorned with sequins.  She held attention even amongst such a fine crowd.

Eventually, Julia directed the assembly to take their seats, and Blaine found himself briefly squinting at place-cards before Douglas gently directed him to their seats.  To Blaine’s surprise Julia had them actually seated beside each other – Douglas had warned him on their way downstairs earlier that it was usual to seat guests alternating males and females at dinner.  A glance to the rest of the table however finds that, aside from Douglas and himself, the pattern had been maintained.  Douglas sits to the right of his mother, with Blaine to his right.  To Blaine’s right is a walrus of a gentleman Blaine vaguely recalls as being a cousin from the London branch of the family.  He tries not to take the fact that he is _again_ being classed with the women as an insult, and instead takes the opportunity to quietly question Douglas about June.  He manages to discern that June is a socialite – the widow of a mineral baron – before their attention is demanded by the arrival of the senior Douglas.  Once he is seated the service begins – waiters in black tie begin to serve the first course.  Blaine manages to catch both Rachel and Doug’s eye at various points during the dinner; however, they had been seated at the far-end of the table so any attempt at conversation is made impossible.  Instead he finds himself politely answering questions when he is spoken to, but otherwise, he remains blissfully ignored.

 

-+-

 

            After the gentlemen retire to the billiard room (to Douglas’ chagrin, and Blaine’s insistence that he is “fine” with being left with the ladies) Blaine finds himself ushered to the piano where he is tasked by Julia to provide an “ambience”.  He takes that as meaning “background music” so proceeds to play the first piece of music that comes into his head – he starts easy with classics he knows most of the party would recognise.  His hands and fingers warm up quickly, and he tries to concentrate – not having practiced in months he is conscious that he is no longer perfect.  Rachel eventually sidles up to him and squeezes alongside him on the piano bench.

            ‘This is kind of intimidating.’

He cannot help but laugh a little at her understatement.

            ‘It’s good to see you.  Sorry I didn’t get to say hello earlier –’

            ‘No – it’s fine, really.  I…uh…I guess you weren’t expecting to see me.’

            ‘Got to be honest – no.  But I’m glad you’re here.’

She smiles a little at that.

            ‘So – why do you get to avoid the “manly” retreat with the rest of the waspy old gentlemen?  I swear – I had _no_ idea people actually still did this.’

            ‘Because Julia does not consider me to be a man apparently?  I’ve no idea.  She did this last time too.  It’s kind of embarrassing.’  He grimaces slightly and Rachel frowns in response.

            ‘Didn’t Douglas say anything to her?’

            ‘I don’t need anyone to say something for me, Rachel.  If I wasn’t happy with it I’d say something.  I actually don’t mind.  All they’ll be doing is drinking, talking about how amazing their businesses are, and preening.  I’d much rather be here.’

            ‘Oh.  Okay.’

They fall into silence as he plays for a while.  Rachel seems relieved to “hide” with Blaine, and he understands – it takes no effort to imagine how overwhelmed she feels.

At some point Blaine realises that June is still watching him – he throws her his most charming smile and forces himself not to stare back.

            ‘Blaine?’

He had almost forgotten the brunette sandwiched against his side, lost as he had been within Vivaldi and Verdi, Bach and Brahms.  He glances over, but he recognises the look she is giving him without having to turn to fully face her.

            ‘It’s just a ring, Rachel.  You’d think people had never seen one before.’

            ‘That’s not _just_ an _anything_ , Blaine!  How could you?  How could you do this to Kurt?’

            ‘Shhh!  Keep it down.  I’ll explain later I promise, but it’s not about Kurt, alright?’

            ‘How, Blaine?  How is this not about Kurt?  You kissed!’

            ‘Shhh!  Please!’

            ‘He’s in love with you.  I thought you loved him too.’

            ‘Not now, alright?’

It is that moment that the men pour into the room, bringing with them the spicy scent of bourbon, and Blaine’s temporary reprieve.  He can feel Rachel glaring at him as he quickly scopes the room in an attempt to spot Douglas or Doug. 

            ‘This is not over, Blaine.’

            ‘Rachel, please – just let it go for now.  I promise I’ll tell you what is going on, but please don’t tell Doug.’

            ‘Don’t tell Doug?  I don’t exactly need to _tell_ Doug anything, Blaine, because you’re wearing a _ring_ on your left ring-finger.  You know what Kurt said to me?  He begged me not to tell Doug about you and him.  He said it didn’t need complicating.  He was trying to _protect_ you, Blaine.’

            ‘I don’t need protecting.’

            ‘No – you need shaking.’

The space she had occupied feels freezing when she leaves, but he keeps his head up and game face on, whilst watching Rachel and Doug from his place at the piano.  He is so preoccupied with watching for any sign of trouble that when Julia appears beside him he physically jumps.

            ‘Douglas tells me you sing.’

            ‘Uh – yes.  Well, no…not in a long time now.’

            ‘Sing something for us.’

He wants to say “I’m not here for your entertainment.”  He wants to scream.  He wants to step away from the safety blanket of the piano and leave – to walk until he can no longer feel his feet amongst the husks of trees and frozen leaves.  Instead he nods and Julia takes that as her invitation to draw the attention of the entire room onto him.

            ‘As promised, Mr. Anderson has agreed to sing for us.’

It dawns on Blaine then that she must have planned this all along as at some point, while he had been distracted, the staff had set out a number of chairs, whilst still managing to keep refreshments and drinks replenished and without drawing any attention.  Julia takes a seat, dragging Douglas, who looks like he is about to make a scene on Blaine’s behalf, down with her.  Blaine manages to throw what he hopes resembles a reassuring smile in Douglas’ direction, and, praying that his voice will not betraying having not had an opportunity to warm up, begins to play.

He tries not to dwell on why the first song that comes to mind is Carole King’s _It’s Too Late_.

 

-+-

 

He had thought it would be **a** song, but Julia motions for more after the first, so he plays a couple of Rat Pack classics and throws in a standard or two for good measure.  Douglas looks a curious mixture between in awe and furious and Blaine has no doubt which of the emotions is aimed at him, and which at Julia.  He continues to watch Rachel and Doug from the corner of his eye, until he is struck with an idea.

            ‘So, we are actually luck to have soon-to-be-on-Broadway-as-Ms-Fanny-Brice in the revival of _Funny Girl_ , the amazingly talented Ms Rachel Berry, with us this evening.  Rachel, would you do me the great honour of accompanying me?’

He knew it was a risk, but he had calculated correctly – layering the right amount of honey into his voice together with enough of an ego-prod that it is seconds before Rachel is beside him again.  Before she can say anything however, he begins to play.  A dark part of him revels in his song choice and he does not miss the look Rachel throws him as she begins her part of _Broadway Baby_.

 

-+-

 

            Julia decides when Blaine is done by leading applause in a declaration of an “intermission”.  Blaine barely conceals his growing frustration.  Douglas is beside him with a glass of water and a fountain of apologies in an instant, much to Rachel’s annoyance.  He is followed by June who takes the opportunity to survey Blaine again before glancing to Rachel.  Blaine quickly corrects his mistake and introduces one fiery woman to the other.

            ‘I’m sorry – Ms. Dolloway, this is Ms. Rachel Berry.  She is about to de-’

            ‘- _Funny Girl_.  I heard.’  Rachel had turned to face June in expectation of praise, but barely has a chance to say a word before June is focused back on Blaine.  Douglas shifts uncomfortably by his side.  ‘Do you know who I am, Mr. Anderson?’  A codfish, he opens his mouth to answer, but June apparently had no intention of letting him as she continues almost without pause.  ‘I have a very discerning and tasteful eye for the extraordinary, and I love to hone it like a rough diamond until it sparkles.  I have a good feeling about you.  Would you be so kind as to escort me to a little charity dinner I am attending next week?  And then we can discuss your future over a $25,000 plate of rubber chicken.’

Blaine feels Rachel’s eyes on the side of his head.  He feels Douglas’s sharp intake of breath beside him.  He feels Julia’s approach. 

            ‘I…I’d be delighted, Ms. Dolloway.’

            ‘Good.’

He feels the blood rush from his head.

            ‘I told you he was something special now didn’t I, June?’  Julia is at June’s elbow, but June is still watching him with shrewd eyes.  Blaine nods slightly, and June dips her chin in response.  Blaine feels as if he has just signed a contract in blood.

 

-+-

 

            Unsurprisingly, Rachel refuses to sing with him again and storms off, taking a very confused and bewildered Doug with her.  Blaine is torn between chasing her down and not being able to feel his feet.

Of course that is when Julia chooses to make an announcement and it all erupts.

 

-+-

 

**Rachel (to Kurt):** Call me.  Now.

-+-

 

            ‘I cannot believe you, mother!’

Julia sits ramrod straight as Douglas paces.  Blaine feels like a piece of furniture and wishes he could actually become one.  Thankfully Roger had had the presence of mind to lead the four of them into the library and away from the main party after Julia’s little announcement – apparently he was excellent at reading both his mother and Douglas.  Blaine dreads to think what would have happened had they remained amongst the guests.

            ‘I thought you would be happy – this _is_ after all what you wanted, Douglas, now is it not?  All our friends and family heard it from us first, directly, and they had a chance to talk to you both and see that Blaine is not merely some _boy_ but a very talented young man who, quite frankly, surpassed my expectations of him tonight.’

            ‘You _know_ that is not what I meant!’

            ‘He’s wearing a ring on his finger, Douglas.  You can’t expect no-one to have noticed – it is not exactly subtle.’

            ‘Blaine and my relationship is not something you get to flaunt with your friends now that homosexuality has suddenly started to become accepted as the new fad in your social circles!  How many of your _friends_ suddenly have gay sons now?  You don’t get to publically out and accept me after all these years, and you certainly do not get to Blaine around like he is your personal entertainer!’

            ‘You honestly think that was what I was doing?  You stupid, ignorant boy!  Your father is dying.  Did you know that?  He has months left.  Two at the most.  I just wanted to have something to celebrate!  Your father and I agreed to keep news of his health quiet, but he wanted an opportunity to see our family and friends together and happy one last time.  He read about your building in China.  He is so proud of you, Douglas, and so long as any children you and Blaine should have are biologically yours –’

            ‘You sly, manipulative, bitch.’

            ‘What did you just call me?’

            ‘You heard me, mother.  How _dare_ you?  How dare you!’

Roger chooses that moment to intervene.

            ‘Not now, Diggsie.  Come on – why don’t you take Blaine out and show him the gardens while I have a chat to Mother?  I’m sure Blaine would like to see the grounds?’

            ‘How long have you known, Roger?’  The look Douglas throws his younger brother is murderous.

            ‘Known what?’  Roger’s dark eyes are wide and placating, but his brother sees straight through them.

            ‘About father’s illness.’

            ‘I was going to tell you –’

            ‘Goddammit, Roger!’

            ‘Douglas, please keep your voice down, dear.  The guests...’  Julia’s eyes dance between her sons, but there is almost a gleam of delight behind them rather than the worry, shock, or anger Blaine had expected.

            ‘Of course, of course – wouldn’t want them to see how utterly devious you both are.’  Douglas spits the words at his brother and Blaine watches in silence as the men square off.

            ‘Listen, Douglas – Mother and I didn’t want to worry you.  We know how busy you’ve been with the business, and we wanted to be sure –’

            ‘Be sure of what exactly?’

            ‘Be sure that you wouldn’t do something rash.’

            ‘Oh, I’ll show you rash.  Tell him he can keep it.  He can keep the money.  He can keep the houses.  He does not get to dictate a _second_ more of my life and that goes for you too, Mother.  I spent _years_ of my life hiding who I was.  I tried to be the perfect son for you and all I received in return was thinly veiled disappointment.  I’m _sorry_.  I’m sorry I couldn’t marry a congressman’s daughter like Roger did.  I’m sorry I was inconvenient for you – it must have been terrible trying to explain why your eldest wouldn’t marry.  But if you think that you get to pretend to be all accepting now you are sorely mistaken.  I am jumping through no more hoops for you or this _family_.  I’m done with the plotting and the lies.  I’m done.’

            ‘Be reasonable, Douglas.  Just go for a walk and cool off and then I’ll explain everything.’  Roger keeps his voice low, but Douglas just glares at him.

            ‘How exactly can you explain using me to distract from father’s illness?  How do you explain keeping something like that from me?  No – you know what – I’m leaving.  Keep me in, write me out – I don’t care.  Just know this – I _will_ fight you.  Not for the money or the houses or even for the business that I have put the best years of my life into.  No.  I’ll fight you because it will _ruin_ you.  If I’m written out you better believe that I’ll make damn sure _all_ the “reasons” are in _all_ the papers - you mark my words.  So you better tell him to make _his_ decision “coolly” and “rationally” because, unlike you, I keep my promises.’

 

-+-

 

 


	8. Floating

### Floating

            ‘I…I need to talk to him.  Is he there?  Put him on, Rachel.’

He can hardly breathe his chest feels so tight – his free hand clenches and unclenches, he feels damp all over – _is this what having a heart attack feels like?_

            ‘That’s not going to help, Kurt.  Anyway, Douglas, Doug’s father, the mother, and Blaine all disappeared off-’

            ‘-I’m going to get in a cab and I’m going to join you, and I’m…I’m going to talk to him – what’s the address?’ 

            ‘Kurt just…just stop.  Stop and think for a moment -’

            ‘-No.  I’m done _thinking_ about it, Rachel.  I need to _do_ something.’

            ‘Oh…there’s shouting.  Shush a minute.’

            ‘Shouting?’

            ‘Shhhh!  I’m trying to listen!’

Kurt hurriedly packs as he waits – now that Rachel has mentioned it he can hear raised voices.  Perhaps that is good news?  Maybe it means that it is not true – that Blaine had not chosen someone else over him…because that _cannot_ be the whole story.  Not after they _just_ started to reconnect.  Not after Kurt held out his heart for Blaine to hold again.

            ‘What’s the address, Rach?’  He needs to know.  He needs to be _doing_ something.  He needs to get the address and he needs to call a cab and he needs…he needs to see Blaine…he needs to hear it from him…

            ‘Shhh!  Someone’s coming out!’  There is a scuffle and the sound of heels on wood flooring.  ‘I’ve got to go.  I’ll call you back!’ 

He stares, open mouthed, at his cell phone.  She hung up.  She dropped _that_ on him and then…without even giving him an address…  He runs a hand through his hair, grabs a fistful, and tugs.  His vision blurs and his throat constricts.  He thought his heart would never heal after that fated conversation over a year ago in Battery Park: Blaine had told him that he had cheated, and Kurt had felt like he was going to die.  He had thought that there could be no worse pain. 

Kurt was used to not getting things – before Blaine it had been the story of his life, hell, even after he had first met Blaine all those years ago – it had taken Blaine _ages_ to see what was right in front of him…but then Kurt had started to win for once.  For the first time he had come out on top.  He and Blaine were supposed to be _it_ for each other.  Blaine had been the one person he had felt safest with aside from his own father, and then… 

It had taken time to realise, but he had never stopped loving Blaine.  Even after everything.  He had thought that they had meant something to each other.  He had thought that Blaine still loved him…it was not supposed to end like this. 

A pounding on the door drags him up from the floor from where he had sunk on shaky legs.  For a moment he thinks of leaving it for Santana to answer – but the other woman is at work.  He is alone.  He fists, then palms his eyes quickly in an attempt to clear them, and makes his way to the door.  In his hand he clutches his cell phone tightly, unable to put it down.

He has barely gotten the door open before the other man is pushing his own way in.

            ‘Kurt – we’ve got to talk, alone.  Are you -’  Kurt nods dumbly and stares at Sebastian.  ‘Good.  So – Blaine’s in trouble.’

            ‘You know?’

            ‘Know what?’

            ‘He’s _engaged_.’

            ‘He’s been “engaged” for months.’

            ‘No – there’s a ring, and an announcement, and a huge party –’

Sebastian frowns and seems to actually notice the state that Kurt is in.

            ‘The Blaine I packed off to Southampton this morning is not in a state to be making any decisions about his own life, Kurt.  Yes, there’s a…a ring, but it’s not that simple.’

            ‘Well apparently it is because it’s happening.’  It comes out like a bark.  ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’  Kurt’s vision blurs again and the sea rushes in his ears.

            ‘We need to talk to him, alright?  He needs an intervention, and we need to talk to him, because he is not okay.  He had taken something last night, Kurt.  He had taken something and I spent the entire night worried sick because I couldn’t get him to stop…stop throwing up.  I thought he was going to die.’

            ‘What?’

            ‘Exactly.  The Blaine you and I know – he would _never_ have done drugs, Kurt.  Never.  So tell me again – do you think he sounds like he knows what he is doing?’

 

-+-

 

            Blaine struggles to keep pace with Douglas as the older man strides towards their room having taken leave of his mother and brother.  Blaine is certain he catches a glimpse of Rachel half-hidden in the relative dark of the billiard room as they pass: he knows she must have been listening-in.  He chooses to ignore her, focusing instead on Douglas – he can attempt damage control with Rachel and Doug later.  He pretends not to have seen her, and instead keeps his focus on Douglas.  The other man’s shoulders are taught, his posture straight as a ram rod, and Blaine’s mind rushes to provide him with a plan.  The slam of the door behind them as they enter the Blue Bedroom reverberates, but there is no resultant cloud of dust from the tops of the sills, or the heavy gilt frames – a testament to the staff, Blaine supposes.  Douglas pauses then, one hand braced against the footboard of the bed.  He is trembling.  One touch, Blaine knows, and the wall will either crumble or freeze – he hopes for the former as he knows he needs to keep this discussion reasonable, and there is no way Douglas will listen to him if he hides his pain, hurt, and anguish from Blaine now.

Blaine choses to sit in one of the bedroom chairs and wait.

            ‘You want to leave.’  It is a statement, so Blaine is unsurprised when Douglas says nothing in return.  ‘We should stay.  Not to protect your mother from scandal but to show a united front.  You and I.’  He swallows thickly but continues, knowing that the lack of interruption from Douglas means that the other man is listening.  ‘What she did…I’m sorry, Douglas.  I’m so sorry that they did this to you, but you are so much better than them.  If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from you it’s how to be strong.  Running away won’t solve anything.  You know that.’  His gaze shifts from the hunched figure in the semi-darkness before him to the moon-lit white of the gardens.  The branches are bleached bone against the velvet sky – they rattle ivory knuckles against the glass of the windowpane beside him. 

            ‘You’re right.’

The words make him jump a little with their sudden volume.  Blaine nods in the darkness and lets out a shaky breath.  He releases the glimmer of hope he had held, feather gentle in his chest, at the confirmation that they would have to face the mob downstairs again.  They would face this together.  He glances back towards Douglas’ prone form, but there has been no movement.  Blaine turns again, his gaze slipping back towards the skeletal army that stood sentry along the borders of the grounds in military ranks. 

            ‘Come here?’  Douglas’ words are soft and uncertain.  Blaine watches as cloud gradually blankets the light from the world, before turning and taking his place beside the other man.  Fingers tremble as they hold him close – freezing and seeping into his skin even through the layers of formalwear.  Blaine keeps breathing though his chest feels tight and his limbs are trapped – tangled as they are within Douglas’.  Douglas who was so strong, and certain…  Douglas who fought for him…who cherished him…who loved him. 

Realisation is not an ice bath or a stinging slap to Blaine.  It is lead – heavy like porridge in his gut.  Regardless of who did what to whom with whom, regardless of the whole sorry tangle of affairs they had created, Douglas is a friend.  He is a friend first and that is all that matters – the rest can be dissected and dealt with later.

His mind steadied, Blaine softens his tensed limbs, and holds Douglas then, pressing tiny kisses into the other man’s hairline until their breathing levels and synchs.

Blaine does not sleep – he thinks Douglas does but he cannot be certain, and he does not want to risk moving to find out.  Instead he ignores pins and needles in his trapped leg and arm, and passively processes the events of past weeks to the soundtrack of the party bubbling below. 

Eventually the last set of clacking heels and whispering soles drift along the corridor beyond the door to the outside-world, and a horrifying silence lies heavily upon them. 

He sees himself from across the room – two men of marble, intertwined in grief and exhaustion.  Perhaps he drifts off for an hour or so – he has no real way of telling, but eventually his bladder calls out for him to seek relief, forcing him to untangle and extract.

            ‘Can you not sleep either?’  Douglas’ voice is rough – his breath a little stale against Blaine’s cheek.

            ‘No…’  Guilt assuaged, Blaine gets up and takes the opportunity to relieve himself of dinner jacket and shoes.  Bladder temporarily forgotten he locates sleepwear for them both, then squints to read the face of the baroque timepiece on the mantle. 

            ‘What time is it?’  Douglas, following Blaine’s example, asks from his temporary seat on the edge of the bed – one shoe in hand, the other on foot.

            ‘Five.’

            ‘Breakfast will be at seven fifteen.’

Blaine knows better than to joke about precision and routine here, and instead passes Douglas pyjamas, before shuffling in the direction of the ensuite bathroom.  The tiles bite his bare feet, and Blaine finds himself longing for the heated floors of the penthouse before laughing at how soft he has become in so short a time.  He changes quickly, using his discarded dress shirt as a mat (not that it does much good), before relieving himself hurriedly.  Shedding his body-warm clothing may have made him a little more comfortable, but they, like the rooms, are cold.  He is beneath the thick feather quilt and pressed flush to the heat of Douglas as quickly as he can manage, but, instead of being pushed away with a complaint he is once again held within a warm cage of limbs. 

            Which is why, when he awakes to find the bed and room cold and empty, in what feels like mere moments later, he is a little shocked.  His senses are dimmed from lack of quality (let alone quantity) of sleep, and he struggles to recall when he and Douglas replaced their covers with a goose-down duvet.  The previous events hit him with the shirt and pants Douglas aims at him when he emerges from the bathroom.  He blinks at the mantle clock.

            ‘It’s only six-thirty.’

            ‘And breakfast is at –’

            ‘- Seven fifteen.’

            ‘Precisely.  So we need to be up and ready.’

Blaine groans but manages to fling the covers back rather than snuggle back into them.  He morns the escaping heat as he sits up and clambers from the bed.  He half considers slipping his dress shoes on in order to shield himself from the chill of the tile, but decides to brave it rather than try to find them again in the chaos of clothes Douglas is busying himself sorting.

It is only when he spots the small tube of concealer that has been left out for him – together with his usual toiletries – that he realises his error.  Suddenly the chill of the tile is his last concern: he had failed to get up before Douglas, and the other man must have seen the bruise on his neck.

 

-+-

 

            Douglas says nothing about the hickey, and Blaine finds that more painful a torture than a discussion about it.  He would take a shouting match and accusations over this chilling indifference any day.

The older man kisses him gently, before leading him down to breakfast – to which they arrive precisely on time. 

            ‘I’m not giving her one thing to hold against us or call us out on.’  Douglas whispers determinedly to Blaine as they take their seats. 

Blaine notices that neither Doug nor Rachel appear for breakfast, but that seems like a minor point considering everything else.  Every time someone approaches them Blaine’s heart stutters, but it is only ever family and friends congratulating them both on their engagement, on Douglas’ work in China, or on Blaine’s talent.  Douglas graciously makes small talk with each and all, whilst studiously avoiding talk of his parents, or his brother.  Blaine finds he has no appetite, and sticks instead to coffee – heedless of the fact that increasing his edginess would probably not be beneficial.

They remain until Douglas finally finishes with his own coffee – Blaine suspects that Douglas had been purposefully drawing it out – and then retire back to their room together.  Blaine’s feet drag across the threshold and the door closes like a gunshot.

            ‘Douglas, I -’

            ‘You don’t need to say anything, Blaine.  I know what clubs are like, and we both know you were not completely operating under your own faculties.  There’s nothing to forgive; I’m just glad that you’re alright so stop skittering about like a cat on coals and help me decide how best to torture mother – we could wear matching clothes?  I’m sure that checked Brooks Brothers shirt you love would go with that bubble-gum pink vest you bought me.’

Blaine’s brain and jaw seem disconnected, but he manages to follow Douglas’ words enough to nod dumbly.  Douglas’ eyes study him discerningly, but Blaine manages to maintain eye contact.  Douglas smiles, kisses him, and then turns to rifle through one of the massive armoires. 

            ‘Perhaps with your grey wool trousers?  I packed that bowtie…The one with the lobsters or the one with the little Christmas trees?’

Blaine blinks – completely floored by the direction Douglas has taken – but manages to respond with something that makes some sort of sense because Douglas tells him that he is an evil genius and grins at him.  The other man’s energy is infectious, however, so Blaine finds himself easily lost in Douglas’ devious plans – but his guts keep squirming, and he cannot completely put it down to lack of food or sleep.

 

-+-

 

            Doug is sitting alone in the library when Blaine finds him.  He approaches a little cautiously for fear of a lurking Rachel, but when Doug spots him, smiles, and waves him over Blaine’s unease quietens a little.

            ‘Where’d you go after the announcement last night?  I looked for you everywhere.  I can’t believe you’re going to be my uncle.  That is fucked up, Blaine.  But you’re going to be family.  Real family.  Man, I’m so happy for you.  Maybe Uncle Bill and dad’ll get back to talking to each other after this seeing as we’re all going to be family?’

Doug’s words bowl Blaine over with the force of a full-grown Burmese Mountain Dog to the chest.  The news that his father and Roger had fallen out reverberates through his chest like an ominous church bell.  He manages to remain standing, but is powerless to stop his friend from lifting him a good few inches from the floor with the enthusiasm of his hug.

            ‘Didn’t see you at breakfast…or Rachel for that matter.’

If Doug noticed the change of direction, he is gracious enough not to draw attention to it.  Instead he returns Blaine to the relative safety of the ground.

            ‘Nah, man.  She disappeared about the time you did – thought she was with you at first, but then I found her in the billiard room talking on the phone to someone.  I didn’t listen in or anything but it sounded pretty intense and she was pretty upset afterwards.  She told me she was going to retire early – I asked her what the matter was, but she just said she was tired.  I checked on her this morning, but she said she felt sick and didn’t fancy breakfast so I let her be.  I didn’t really want any myself at that time in the morning – drank a bit too much champagne: the good stuff came out after the Big News – you missed it!     Hey, do you reckon it was something I did?  Man, I hope I didn’t blow it with her.  She’s…she’s literally the perfect woman, Blaine.’

            ‘I’m sure it was nothing you did.’

            ‘Could you check on her and maybe subtly check for me?’

Blaine manages to stifle a choked laugh at the thought in his relief that Doug remained seemingly oblivious to most of the drama.  Maybe that was why he found himself, minutes later, waiting outside the door to the Bamboo Room.

Rachel’s reception of him was the polar opposite to Doug’s, and Blaine was instantly glad that he had insisted that Doug remain downstairs.

The Bamboo Room (which he managed to semi-force his way into when Rachel had answered the door – now was not the time for gentlemanly behaviour after all) lived up to its name – he is certain that it would have been the height of fashion in the 1940s, but in the cold light of December over 70 years later it simply looked as tired as he felt – though a lot more elegant even in its faded grandeur.  The room itself was tucked away in the far reaches of the house, and was likely seldom used – this fact Blaine was genuinely grateful of at that moment because it meant they were likely to be unseen and unheard.  He barely had time to take in the patterned wallpaper, or the bamboo suite with its limp lace, before Rachel was an inch from his face – her eyes red rimmed and furious.

            ‘How dare you.’  It is more growl than speech, and for a moment Blaine considers suggesting she look after her voice better for _Funny Girl_.  Luckily (for him at least) his brain kicks in enough to suggest otherwise.

            ‘I…I beg your pardon?’

            ‘How utterly dare you, Blaine Anderson.  How could you do that to Kurt?  I thought you were better than that.  When you cheated on him I was certain it was all a misunderstanding – but now I see the truth.  You are the worst kind of person.  Is this how little he means to you?  How could you treat him like this – after all he’s been through.’

Her last statement flips a switch somewhere within him and he goes from distraught and guilt-ridden to indignant in less time than he thought possible.

            ‘Stop it, Rachel.  You don’t know anything.’  He manages to keep his voice calm and level by some previously unknown feat of internal control – some part of him is hyper aware that he needs to handle this carefully and without drawing external attention, while the other, much larger part, fights instincts to slam doors and run away.    

            ‘I know that I only just managed to talk Kurt down from coming right over here last night.  I know that he deserves so much better than you.’

            ‘You told Kurt.’  It was a statement not a question.

            ‘You better believe I did, Mr.’

            ‘I didn’t want it to go like this, Rachel.  I never wanted to hurt him.’

            ‘Kurt or Douglas?  Because the way I see it no one wins here – you mess everything you touch up.  I swear to you that if you even try to contact him again I will personally castrate you – and then I’ll set Santana on what’s left of you.’

He has nothing to say to that and instead leans heavily against the wall of faux bamboo behind him and half expects the shoots to bend under his weight.  Rachel must take it for defeat for she lets out a huff of air and closes her eyes, before levelling them back at him again like crosshairs.

It is then that Blaine sees it – the way out of the argument and it is then that he realises just how despicable Charlie’s influence on him had been. 

~ _She’s deflecting.  She sees your betrayal of Kurt with Douglas as a reflection upon her.  She sees herself betraying Finn because she’s contemplating moving on with Doug…This is not really about you – this is about her.  Tell her.  Watch her crumble.~_

He quashes the thought as quickly as it raises its serpentine head.  It is never that simple.  He is not that person.  He swallows down rising bile.

            ‘It was never meant to go like this, Rachel.’

            ‘Tell me, Blaine.  How does it go?’  She slides down onto the edge of the bed, and Blaine notices how tired she looks.  She could have told Doug – she could have told him everything…but she did not.  That has to mean something.

            ‘Kurt is the love of my life, Rachel.’

            ‘Like Finn?’

            ‘Like Finn.’ 

            ‘How…how could you give up something like that willingly?’

            ‘I…I don’t know when it all became so messy…I…I thought he was done with me.  I honestly thought Kurt had moved on, and by the time I realised I was not handling it it was too late.’

            ‘It’s never too late, you know.  I don’t know if I will ever find what I had with Finn again…but I realised something – I cannot sit around like a martyr holding his memory close to me at night forever.  He wouldn’t have wanted that…’

            ‘Doug really likes you, you know.’

She smiles wryly and a little of the stiffness in her shoulders dissipates.

            ‘I know.  Who knows?  Maybe it will work?  Maybe it won’t.  But I think I’d like to find out.’

Blaine forces his lips together into a tight smile, not trusting himself to speak.  His throat feels too tight, and his palms are sticky.  Subconsciously he rubs them against his pants leg.

            ‘Blaine?’

Her voice is gentle and he glances back up to her from where his eyes had sunk to the light pink and green carpet at her bunny-slippered feet.

            ‘I don’t know what to do, Rach.  This whole thing is a nightmare.  There’s no good, fair way out of this.  If I…If I left Douglas it would break him.  He has done so much for me…’

            ‘But you love Kurt.’

            ‘I love Douglas too.’

            ‘Not like Kurt.  Never like Kurt, Blaine.’

            ‘I know.’

 

-+-

 

            Charlie’s mouth tastes sour, and there’s something gluing his skin to his clothes in a couple of patches that may be dried liquor or something else… but he opens the door regardless – anyone important would know not to bother calling before three in the afternoon if they wanted Charlie in a presentable state.

He does not expect a fist to the face.

 

 

 


	9. Duet

### Duet

 

            ‘You shouldn’t have punched him, Elliott.’

Elliott frowns and looks between the two men seated across the kitchen table from him.  Kurt’s hair is dishevelled, his eyes red-rimmed and slightly puffy, cheeks dotted with colour.  The other man looks no better.

            ‘I know.  I know.  I just… when I got the call to say she was in the hospital, Kurt – I just…’

            ‘I get it – believe me… but you don’t go around punching people, even if I am really glad that you did; he’s a terrible example of a human being, but he’s also a very well connected one.’

            ‘He won’t sue me, Kurt.’

            ‘Elliot’s right,’ the lighter haired man added – his voice tight and tired.  ‘Benedict Charles will not want his name attached to a drugs scandal.  It wouldn’t do for his reputation.’

            ‘I feel so selfish – I’m so beyond glad it wasn’t Blaine – but I feel awful for Miss D.’  Kurt runs a hand through his hair again and Elliot drops his eyes to the table, exhaustion sweeping over him.

            ‘It’s not selfish, Kurt.  From what Sebastian was saying Charlie gave the same stuff to Blaine so it could easily have ended up the same way for him.  I’m just grateful that Felix didn’t abandon her like Charlie did, and I’m grateful that Blaine had the sense to get to Sebastian.’

Kurt nods slightly, his fist tightens in his hair.  Sebastian’s fingers twitch from where they lie in front of him on the cold table top as if he wants nothing more than to comfort the man beside him, but he resists.

            ‘You can’t go over there, Kurt.  It won’t help anything.  Rachel is there…  If Blaine had any adverse side effects she’d let you know.  Hell – it’s…’  He glances at his phone before letting out a small huff of air.  ‘…eight in the morning and he took the stuff the previous evening.  It’s well over 24 hours now.’  Elliot stands gingerly, stretching tense muscles as he does so.  ‘I’m going to head back to the hospital.  See how she’s doing.’

            ‘She’ll be alright, Elliot.’  Sebastian’s voice is firm – as if he can make it the truth by willpower alone.  Elliot appreciates the gesture for what it is and dips his head.

            ‘Kurt – I don’t know what to suggest about Blaine.  I think Sebastian’s right…he needs friends right now more than anything else.  I know that hurts.  Truly.’  A sigh escapes unbidden and Elliott feels exhaustion settle in his bones.  ‘Thanks for calming me down.  I…  I was so angry with her for being so stupid, you know?’

            ‘Charlie was the obvious punching bag – literally.  I get it.  I felt the same way when I was nursing Blaine.’  Sebastian’s eyes are soft as he forces himself to his feet.  Kurt remains seated staring at the small collection of cold, empty mugs in front of him.  Sebastian gestures subtly towards the door to Elliot, leading the other man away from their friend.      ‘Has Miss D. got medical?’  His voice is low.

            ‘I don’t know…I doubt it.’

            ‘Alright – give me your cell.  I’m going to give you the number for a doctor I know.  He’ll be able to help.’ 

Elliot raises a pierced eyebrow, but complies – he recognises something in the tired green eyes that he respects.

            ‘I’m glad you’re here with Kurt.  Man, this whole thing is one huge mess.’

Over the other man’s shoulder, Elliot watches as Kurt lines up the handles of the three mugs so that all are equidistant, handles uniformly arranged.  His eyes flick back to meet Sebastian’s as the taller man returns the cell phone to Elliot.

            ‘That’s one way of describing it.’  Sebastian quirks a half smile, and Elliot tries to reciprocate.   ‘I don’t know what to suggest.  I feel utterly useless.’

            ‘There’s not much _to_ do.’

            ‘I know.’

            ‘Just don’t let Kurt do anything stupid – there’s been enough of that already.’  Sebastian nods, but his gaze had already turned to rest upon Kurt.  Elliot lifts a hand in a pseudo wave but Kurt’s attention is elsewhere.  ‘Get some sleep.’  His words reverberate around Sebastian’s head long after the warmth of the raven haired man’s hand has faded from his shoulder.

 

-+-

 

            Douglas’ hands are numb and he prays once more for the inevitable snow to stay away for just a while longer – the last thing he wants is to have to stay a minute more in the Summer Palace than he has to.  He catches a blur of russet from the corner of his eye as Rufus streaks past him towards the edge of the rose garden.  For a moment he is a boy again; hiding from world, protected by thorns, the air thick and heady with perfume.  He breathes deep – but the air is cold, and ice crystals cling to the last remaining leaves; blackened and curled into gnarled fists.  The world has been drained of colour and he knows suddenly that he will never again see the rose garden in bloom as certainly as he knows that the area of a circle is pi multiplied by the square of the radius.  The knot in his chest feels like a hard bud: frozen, stunted, and unable to flower. 

The dog’s exercise had been the perfect excuse to escape for a while – even though he had had to insist forcefully (it was, after all, one of Oliver’s jobs).  He whistles sharply and the Irish Setter reappears, tail wagging furiously, from a gap in between the bordering hedges that encircle the hibernating rose garden.  Rufus makes his way towards Douglas and presses his muzzle against a stiff hand.  The dog’s breath comes in pants of steam, and Douglas fondles a floppy ear in response. 

The harsh sound of his cell vibrating in his pants pocket makes him jump, and Rufus takes it as an invitation to charge off again.  Douglas retrieves the device as he watches the sleek animal run out of the rose garden towards the sunken garden and the (now ice-solid) bathing pool within.

The message is from Adrian and Douglas wonders, not for the first time, at how different things have become in such a short amount of time.  Keeping in contact is too easy with cell phones and the internet.  Would things have been different now had they existed back then?  Or would Adrian’s need to know where Douglas was and where he had been have become even more of a serpent between them - another weapon in a venomous arsenal?  Would texting have helped them to communicate better – little messages to let the other know they were thought of? 

            _I’ll be back late – a potential client wants to meet._

_I miss you._

_Thinking of you._

            _What do you want for dinner?_

Fragments of information in digital space all open to interpretation.

 

            _I’ll be back late – a potential client wants to meet._  

No – you are just prioritising work over _us_ again.  It is no one-off.  It is the norm.

_I miss you._

Do you?  I did not exactly go anywhere.  I’m right here.  Where you left me.

_Thinking of you._

What are you thinking?  Tell me.  This cryptic word game is clichéd.

            _What do you want for dinner?_

Will you be joining me or will I be eating alone again?  Do you actually care or is this your way of telling me to cook for two tonight?

 

Rufus’ sharp bark brings him back, and he forces frozen fingers to operate the device.  He muses that it is simply the environment and lack of sleep that have made him so introspectively nostalgic, and dismisses the train of thought before it derails him more than it already had.

Adrian’s message invites him to dinner.

It causes him to pause.  It causes him to wonder what the game was, when it changed, and who held the rule book. 

He stares at the small screen with its pixelated message, formulating a response that would simultaneously reiterate that he had a fiancé, but that he was interested in reforming a friendship without slamming a metaphorical door firmly in Adrian’s face.  Even if the smallest part of him _really_ still wants to wound the doctor, a larger part wants the easy friendship they once had back.  He considers that progress.

The cell vibrates and Douglas answers it habitually before he is able to finish re-reading the draft of his reply to Adrian.

Penny’s voice is too bright and too bubbly, but Douglas’ mind automatically sharpens down to focus on _work_ with an ease that is a little frightening.  All other thoughts are pushed ruthlessly aside as he mentally takes note of the schedule his assistant outlines.  With every date, time, and place the orderly agenda helps to reorder his mind – it helps him to refocus on the things that are actually important to him.

  *          Darrel will be back from China to debrief Douglas on the 8th January.  All crises had been averted.  _Douglas makes a mental note to add extra to the bonus in Darrel’s December pay check._
  *          Tickets had been booked for Blaine and himself for London.  They are to leave on the 23rd December and will be returning on the 6th January in time for the China debrief.  Fosker had arranged a suite at the Dorchester, where the contract negotiation will also occur.
  *          Penny had scheduled interviews and campus tours at both RADA and Goldsmiths for Blaine – something she was particularly proud of as it was “smack-bang” in the middle of the holiday season.  _As he had for Darrel, Douglas mentally adds to Penny’s Christmas Bonus and tries not to reduce it by 1% for each time she brings up how well she had done to get the appointments during the rest of their conversation._
  *          Grooming appointments at Trumpers for both himself and Blaine had also been arranged, together with collection of new shoes at Edward Green for Blaine, and John Lobb for himself.  There would also be fittings for spring and summer weight suits, and shirts at Douglas’ tailors Huntsman, and at both Kilgour (ultra-modern suiting) and Henry Poole (classic eveningwear) for Blaine.



Douglas mentally scrambled to file away all of the dates and times Penny was firing at him – he had yet to tell Blaine, but he thought that a visit to the tailors and shoemakers from which he had been ordering their wardrobe would be a nice treat.  There was always something magical to him about visiting London  – whether it was the way the doorman would greet him by name with the offer of champagne at his tailor’s, or it was the rich smell of tanned calf leather at John Lobb, he could not be certain.  There was, to him, a wonder about the city that had briefly been home to him that he would forever love.  (He suspected a large percentage of this was due to the sheer amount of _history_ – both his own, and that which was embedded in the very stones of the ancient buildings of the city.  It was an architect’s dream, boasting an eclectic mix of every known European style of the last four hundred years arranged along a higgledy-piggledy archaic street system pre-dating the existing buildings due to the Great Fire of 1666).  He deeply hoped that Blaine felt similarly after their initial visit.  Perhaps these excursions would help - once you had experienced being greeted by name and fitted for a bespoke suit in person (rather than sending measurements by e-mail) it was definitely something you wanted to repeat in Douglas’ experience.  It certainly would not hurt to see a musical or two on the West End while they were there; perhaps even an Opera at the ENO or Royal Opera House…  Maybe something edgy at the New Vic?  No – there would be plenty of time for that when they moved more permanently.  Better to stick to the spectacular for now.

He felt terrible about interrupting Penny, who had been giving him more information about the plans for meeting with Mr. Fosker, but inspiration had struck and would not wait – he rattled off his request for tickets (a box preferred, stalls acceptable) to at least two West End shows and then rang off.  Excitement tingled his bones at the thought of Blaine being as enamoured with London as he was.  They would start again there – the two of them, together.  Perhaps they would even get a dog of their own to walk in the parks – a gun dog perhaps? – Hyde, Green, and St. James’ were all within easy walking distance to Jermyn Street and the office… 

A whistle escaped his numb, chapped lips and Rufus returned - copper fur snarled with fragments of browned, skeletal leaves - and man and dog made their way back through the formal garden rooms to the main house to warm up.  Footfall muted to the soft crunch of the frozen grass and solid gravelled paths beneath their unfeeling feet.

 

-+-

 

Blaine glanced over to Douglas from his perch on one of the sofas beside Doug and Rachel – the other man seemed completely relaxed and it was concerning; especially considering the circumstances of the previous evening.  To watch Douglas now one would never suspect anything could be the matter: he was joking and laughing with cousins and family friends as if he was having a wonderful time.  The fact that Roger looked as if he had swallowed a pin, however, was more than evidence enough for Blaine to believe that he had not imagined it and that it was in fact not some drug-induced nightmare.  Blaine took another swig of bourbon from the almost empty, yet heavy, lead crystal in his hand; fingertips idly tracing the deep etching.

Beside him, Doug was thoroughly engrossed listening to Rachel – from what Blaine could make out, she was telling him all about _Funny Girl_ and the various exploits of herself and Santana at the Spotlight Diner.  Blaine could not help but notice the Kurt-shaped holes in all of her stories, but he was not sure whether it was for his punishment or benefit so he remained silent.

His eyes flickered again over the gathered faces (fewer than the previous evening but still north of twenty) towards the marble and gilt mantle clock – it was still far too early to retire for the evening, regardless of how little sleep he had had the previous night, or the one before that.  Blaine took another sip of the warm amber liquid, enjoying the smoky notes that caressed his tongue and throat, as the pair beside him laughed loudly.

            ‘Blaine, come.’  June’s voice cut through the background noise with the precision of a master chef dissecting a songbird, and he found himself mumbling an apology to Rachel and Doug before heading towards the older woman.  He sincerely doubted that the couple had even noticed his departure.

As before, this evening June was dressed immaculately in a beautifully tailored pant suit and Blaine found himself bending to kiss her soft, papery hand automatically.  His reward was a glowing smile; it glittered.

 

-+-

 

            ‘I _have_ to go, Douglas.’  His bowtie hangs loose around his neck from where Douglas had been in the process of untying it.  Blaine’s limbs and tongue feel thick and heavy from the alcohol – he is warm for once, the liquor inducing a relaxed state that would be conducive (he hoped) to getting a decent night’s sleep.  

            ‘There will be plenty of Charity Dinners, Blaine.  June’s known for them – she uses them to occupy her time since her third husband died.’  Douglas’ deft fingers remove cufflinks and shirt studs with practiced motions that emphasises his sobriety and Blaine’s compromised state.  For some reason it infuriates the younger man.

            ‘I promised June.’  It comes out a little petulant, and Blaine punctuates the statement by yanking his bowtie free from his collar with more force than was probably necessary.

            ‘I know, and I understand, but we discussed this – ’

            ‘No.’  Blaine interrupts.  ‘We discussed heading to London, we didn’t discuss when, or for how long exactly.  You said months -’

            ‘Exactly – and it’s only for two weeks.’

            ‘Yes, _two_ weeks!  Two weeks and then we’ll be back in New York anyway!  I don’t see what the big deal is.  I’ll stay at home, and accompany June to the Dinner while you do the contracts in London - I know we’ll miss Christmas together, but there’ll be another one next year, right?  And this time next year we’ll be _living_ in London, so there will be plenty of time to –’

            ‘Fine.’  The finality of the word feels like a defeat, not a victory, and Blaine is not wholly sure why.  ‘I’ll call Penny with the change of plan.’

For the first time Douglas looks his age to Blaine – battle weary and bone tired.  Blaine wants nothing more than to take back his words; to have noticed the spark of excitement in the other man’s chocolate eyes for what it was before he smothered it so carelessly.  But his words escape him and he cannot find any to make Douglas stay in the room with him. 

 

-+-

           

            Although she waits as long as she feels she can with Doug’s mother and the grandmother watching and judging, Rachel does not see Blaine again before she takes her leave of the Chambers’ estate.  Doug sends her off with a small peck on the cheek and the swooping feeling in her stomach accompanies her all the way to Bushwick.

Kurt is not in and for that Rachel is supremely grateful, but Santana is waiting like a mantis for all of the news; the other woman barely lets Rachel unpack before settling her down on the sofa with hot lemon tea and hungry, concerned eyes.

 

-+-

 

            June’s praise and the constant stream of people she introduces Blaine to through one event or another keep him so busy he barely knows where he is from one day to the next.  He does not notice the absence of Douglas’ calls – a signature of every previous trip or time spent apart.  He does not have time to even register their loss between early morning coffees where June endeavours to get to know _everything_ about him, their social lunches with the “1% of 1%” Blaine _must_ be friends with, and the ever lengthening string of Dinners and Events Blaine performs at as June’s latest find.

He is not in when Douglas arrives back from London on the 6th of January after two long and lonely weeks away. 

When he eventually does return to the penthouse, Blaine is bone-weary but every fibre of his being is buzzing with energy from the applause and the seemingly endless compliments.  He turns on the bedroom light without thinking and the sight of a tousled head and naked broad shoulders poking out from beneath the thick winter covers of the bed genuinely shocks him for a moment.  Hurriedly he switches the light back off, but it is too late as the other man is already starting to sit up.

            ‘Blaine?’

            ‘You’re back!  Sorry – I didn’t mean to wake you!’  His voice vibrates with the energy buzzing in his core and he struggles to keep the volume low – he can barely hear over the ringing in his ears.  ‘I should have been at the airport, shit!  I’m so sorry.  I’m a terrible fiancé.  I thought it was the 3rd…?  Or the 4th?  I’m so glad you’re back.  I’ve so much to tell you!’

            ‘C’me ’ere.’  The voice is gruff with sleep, and Blaine has too much energy thanks to the caffeine tablets he had taken earlier, but he strips regardless and slips between the covers.  His embrace is met with a huffed ‘Cold!’ but the other man does not pull away.  The sweet warmth of bodily contact soothes some of the restlessness in Blaine, but he feels like he is about to explode with the need to tell Douglas about everything that had happened to him.  A soft snore is his reward, and Blaine swallows his frustration dry, together with a couple of Ambien he manages to retrieve from his bedside drawer, without waking Douglas again.  It feels like hours before the chemicals claim him.

 

-+-

 

            The weeks pass by in a blur to Kurt – he spends the holiday in Lima with his Dad and Carole in a bid to make the absence of Finn that little bit less painful (completely unsuccessfully) and ends up watching _White Christmas_ and balling his eyes out for no reason he can fathom.  He returns to New York with a terrible cold he blames on his father’s insistence that they spend New Year’s Eve watching the fireworks in the freezing outdoors, and instantly finds himself quarantined like a leper by a Rachel who is, once again, rapidly descending into Diva Town on the _Funny Girl_ express. 

Every phone call he makes goes straight to voicemail.  Every text message elicits no response.  Kurt eventually summons the courage to call via the penthouse on 5th Avenue only to be informed that Mr Chambers is away on business. 

Sebastian calls Blaine a coward.  Elliott’s choice of words is a little more colourful, and Santana’s is a proverbial rainbow.

Rachel spends most evenings chatting to Doug via text message – she is protecting her voice the closer opening night creeps like a strangling vine – and Kurt finds the silence oddly comforting.  He picks up the brunette’s extra hours at the diner, and spends all of his excess energy on his classes once they recommence.  His grades soar through the roof (he suspects it is in part due to his performance at the Winter Showcase), and he finds himself fitting in; becoming accepted.  He feels better.  He feels stronger.  He feels brave, and he loves it.

So, when he is called into Carmen Tibideaux’s office he is nervous – his palms sweat almost as much as they had the day he had called on the intimidating dean to see whether she had received and reviewed his audition tape.  The news that he had been selected to perform at the ribbon cutting ceremony for the dedication of the dance studio as one of the cream of NYADA comes as a wonderful surprise, and he positively floats through the rest of the week.  He cannot help but boast to anyone who will listen including (but not limited to) his dad, Carole, Rachel, Santana, Elliott, Dani, and Sebastian that, not only will he be performing; he will also get to meet the illustrious socialite June Dalloway.

His friends allow Kurt’s crows – though it goes unspoken, all know that he both needs and deserves it.  Kurt’s good mood even bolsters him and elevates him enough that he does not get involved or tangled up within Rachel and Santana’s latest spat (unlike Elliott and Dani) over Santana’s position as Rachel’s understudy for _Funny Girl_. 

It is only when he enters the rehearsal room three weeks before the performance to meet the man who will be opening the evening that Kurt’s bubble pops spectacularly.

 

-+-

 

            ‘Now, Blaine, I want you to cast your expert eye over the performers for me.  Carmen is a dear friend of mine and she’s chosen her best, but I’m curious for your thoughts.’

            ‘I’m sure at least one will be up to your exacting standards – so long as you don’t prefer them to me that is.’  He smiles wryly as she laughs and bats his shoulder.

            ‘Let me tell you something, my boy: success depends on three things.  It depends on talent, hard work, and luck and if you have the first two you don't have to worry about the third.  Now, hurry up and finish your baby cake like a good boy before the first one gets here.’ 

Blaine brushes an imaginary crumb from his pants leg before taking his seat at the piano.  Practicing with the performers had been Blaine’s suggestion and June had thought it a wonderful idea.  She had countered with the recommendation that he choose one to duet with in such a way that he had found it impossible to refuse her.  He smiled lightly as he warmed up his voice and fingers while the fiery woman made her excuses to Carmen – June was testing him, Blaine knew, and would not remain for the rehearsal.  The duet would be Blaine’s final hurdle; if he passed June would give him his own showcase.  He needed that showcase like he needed air to breathe.  A showcase meant staying longer in New York.  A showcase meant delaying London again.  A showcase meant delaying the wedding again.

A few months ago, Blaine would have been nervous about performing in front of the NYADA dean – especially after his last “performance” had been both unofficial, and had inadvertently led to Rachel quitting the school.  However, June’s tutelage and companionship had been near absolute and constant since their introduction at the Summer Palace, and the effect on Blaine had been rather profound.

He shot what he knew to be a winning smile in the dean’s direction as she settled in the seat June had vacated.  The look he got back was a mixture of curious and amused.  Blaine felt a tendril of unease stir within him, but, the consummate professional, he shook it off as the first of the potential duet partners entered the studio.

The girl, Naomi, was tall, but that could not be helped.  Her voice was good – a little nasal perhaps – but definitely something he could work with.  However, he soon discovered the reason she had been chosen; Naomi was a dancer.  Blaine knew immediately she would be better placed towards the middle of the event – a penultimate performance before the intermission (read: “mingle session”).  _Give her a spotlight and let her dance_ Blaine scrawled on his notepad next to Naomi’s music selection, before thanking her and asking her to send the next one in.

The young man is nervous and it surprises Blaine slightly – what is there to be nervous of?  Him?  He takes command of the situation by giving the man clear, firm direction, and tries not to notice the dean watching his every move, cat-like.

 

-+-

 

            Kurt recognises the student who holds the door open for him as Jacques from his mime class and smiles slightly – he can out sing the Canadian any day. 

            ‘You’ve got this Hummel,’ he speaks under his breath in an effort to psych himself up as he enters the rehearsal room.  The room already feels like home territory to him – a known, a room he spends hours of every week in – there is nothing that can knock him down there.

But he is wrong.

He is so catastrophically wrong.

The man writing something in a small notebook at the piano is Blaine.  Unmistakably, even though his back is to Kurt he could pick that profile out of a line up anywhere. 

Kurt does not notice the dean in the room but she watches the inner battle war within Kurt as if it were the single most interesting thing she had ever seen.  Run or Fight?  Blaine had yet to see him – Kurt could still leave.  But why should he?  He is the best NYADA has to offer.  Blaine is not a NYADA student – Kurt has every right to be there.  This is his turf.

He squares his shoulders and clears his throat.

            ‘I’m Kurt Hummel and I’ll be singing “The Story of My Life”.’

 

-+-

 

            He had known there would be the possibility that Kurt would be at NYADA - he was not stupid – but it catches him off-guard anyway.  Somehow he manages not to spin around immediately at the sound of Kurt’s voice.  Somehow he manages to calmly place his pencil down beside his notebook without it rolling away from him.  Somehow his voice is strong and clear.

            ‘That’s a good song, but that’s sung by five different people.  How’re you going to sing all those layers as just one person?’

He turns slowly and walks towards the other man exactly as he had done for the previous two NYADA students.  He focuses on the job before him; choosing the perfect duet partner.  He already knows that their voices are the perfect compliment.  He knows.

            ‘Is there a problem, Mr. Anderson?’

The dean’s voice seems to boom across the room, tinkling with amusement.  Blaine simply shoots her a winning smile – he is better than this game.

            ‘Not at all, Carmen.  I have no doubt that Kurt knows exactly what he is doing.’  Blaine stops before he reaches the other man and gestures for him to stand where Blaine signals.  He will not pretend they do not know each other; he will not play puppet to whatever this is; be it revenge, test, sick amusement, or genuine accident.  He will be professional.  He will be everything June knows him to be.  ‘Just a step further.  Perfect.  Thank you.  Alright, so do you have music?’

            ‘I’m sure you know it by heart.’

Blaine’s eyes flicker up then to meet Kurt’s for the first time since he tore himself away.  Away from Kurt’s couch, Kurt’s kisses, Kurt’s embrace.

There is an ice-cold fury that reminds Blaine of Princess Elsa and sends a shiver straight through his core, heart, and soul.

 

-+-

 

            _Madame Tibideaux called him “Mr. Anderson” – maybe he kept his name?_ Kurt’s mind is working overtime cataloguing; desperately trying to regain the upper hand; self-defence.  Every time Blaine moves his hand that damned ring ( _third finger, left hand_ ) catches the light and glints at Kurt – _winks_ at him - and he can barely breathe. 

He takes a deep breath in, two, three.  Slowly out through his nose, two three.  Another: in - two - three, out – two - three.  Another: in - two - three, out - two - three.

When Blaine’s eyes catch his Kurt’s breath catches with it.

 

-+-

 

            Douglas barely concentrates on Darrel’s enthusiastic and nauseating display.  It is almost as if he is a dog – wagging his tail and performing every trick he knows so his master will say “Good boy!”  It makes him feel sick.

It does not matter.

None of it _matters_.

Douglas clears his throat.  Darrel pauses – questioning – but Douglas has no intention of talking and when that becomes clear Darrel continues where he left off.

London had been as awe-inspiring and magical as Douglas had remembered, but it had felt empty.  He could not fathom why – he had been alone the last time he had been in England as well.  Returning to New York in contrast should have felt like going home, but it too felt empty. 

He was not sure that there was anything for him anymore – here or there.

Perhaps he should do as his father had done: hand the business over to someone younger and more energetic (Darrel being the obvious choice).

Adrian had laughed at him when he had suggested it and the sound had both infuriated and refreshed him.  He had no idea when or how, but somehow Adrian had sidled back into his life – filling his evenings while Blaine was monopolised by June.  The woman was like a snake charmer, but he understood the allure.  Blaine was made for the spotlight.  June was merely shining it on him.

Douglas was at a loss as to where he had gone wrong.

Adrian told him to be patient – Blaine was just doing what all young men do – “finding himself”.  Part of Douglas knew that Adrian was right.  Had he not done precisely the same thing at Blaine’s age?

The problem was (something he could never admit to Adrian): Douglas was not sure he had the energy to watch.

 

-+-

 

            ‘I’m going to sing the duet with Kurt.’

            ‘Carmen said you would.  Funny.’  There is no amusement sparking in June’s expressive eyes, and Blaine swallows against his suddenly parched throat: he knows _Danger_ when he sees it.  ‘You’re sure?’

It is a _Get Out Of Jail Free_ card – they both know it.  Was June in on this?  Is this sport to them?  A bored socialite and the dean of a prestigious school, both playing god with the lives entrusted to them? 

The thought angers him and turns his mind to steel.

            ‘I’m sure.’

 

-+-


	10. Catharsis

### Catharsis

            Blaine takes another sip of his wine and watches as June purses her lips.  He smiles sweetly in response before returning to charming the young actress seated beside him.  The blonde has that doe-eyed look that he is quickly learning means he should withdraw a little to prevent awkwardness or hard feelings at the end of the evening.  He does, after all, need June’s _people_ on side – especially if they are to work together in the future as he suspects June hopes.  June is not exactly subtle.

He catches Douglas’ shifting uncomfortably out of the corner of his eye and smoothly moves to include his fiancé in the discussion by introducing him as such to the actress, Aimee.  The young woman’s grey eyes widen almost comically in understanding before she attempts to cover her embarrassment with her exclamation that

            ‘I _knew_ I knew you from somewhere!  You’re _The_ Architect.  The one who designed that building in China!  My father’s an investor - he showed me the article in the Time magazine.  He’d _love_ to meet you.’

Blaine rests a possessive hand on Douglas’ thigh and shoots a relatively smug look to June who merely rolls her eyes at him and laughs. 

Safely engaged in conversation with Aimee, Blaine rises from the red velvet seat between Douglas and the actress to (subtly he hopes) let them talk without him sandwiched in the middle.  As he squeezes his way out of the box he offers to get June a drink from the bar as a way to cover his departure.  He thinks he heard her answer in the affirmative but his mind is already elsewhere.  Thankfully, he knows her well enough now to know she would consider this a soda water event.  He manages to weave his way through the throng of chattering patrons towards the bar area – the noise is seemingly (and deservedly he thinks) positive.  If the second act is anywhere near as good and strong as the first he is certain that the papers will all boast good reviews in the morning.  The thought is a comfort – at least something was going as it should.  Rachel deserved her opening night to go perfectly.

He catches the eye of the bartender and places his order (changing his at the last minute to something a little stronger than the wine he had been drinking) and gives the number of June’s box so that their refreshments can be delivered, before steeling himself to head back through the throng.        

Firm fingers catch his elbow and he is surprised to find himself enveloped in a bear-like facsimile of a hug.  For half a second he thinks it is Sam – and he cannot breathe, but it is not the smiling blonde who was almost his friend embracing him.

            ‘Blaine!  Rach didn’t say you were going to be here.  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.  Where’re you sitting?  Who are you here with?  Uncle Dougl…I mean, your fiancé?’

            ‘Doug!  Hi!  Uh…yes.  June got us tickets so I could hardly refuse…’  He manages to stutter as the broader man returns him to the relative safety of the ornately carpeted Earth. 

            ‘Why would you refuse?  It’s Rach’s _Opening Night_!  Oh…the Kurt thing?’

Blaine glances up from straightening his dinner jacket and bites his lip as his friend’s face crumples a little in a strange mixture of concern and chagrin.

            ‘She told you?’  He tests the water lightly, heart pounding, but Doug does not seem angry…  He _should_ be furious.

            ‘About the fallout you guys had?’  Doug’s smile is a little faded and forlorn but the look of _sympathy_ that he offers Blaine makes the slighter man sick to his already flittering stomach.

            ‘Fallout?’  Blaine’s throat closes, his palms prickle…

‘Yeah.  It’s a shame, man.  She didn’t go into details, though Santana tried to say something else - until Rach threw a cushion at her, Kurt changed the subject, and then some old teacher of theirs showed up…  I…it’s not my place to go delving into your business, Blaine.  Kurt’s cool from what I know of him anyway.  I mean, he dresses a little funny, and he can be a bit… intense, but he’s a good guy.  You’re performing together in like three weeks, right?  You should really make up before then.  “Tension in a performance is always obvious.”’

            ‘I can hear Rachel in your words there, Doug.  I think someone’s rubbing off on someone…  So, you’re staying in Bushwick?’  Blaine’s attempt to derail the conversation with humour works and Doug goes on to tell him all about the crazy that had descended upon the Loft seemingly oblivious to the emotional rollercoaster he just took Blaine through.  He somehow manages to hold himself together in some semblance of “paying attention” until the lights flicker to call the masses back to their seats.  He is about to escape safely to the box when he knows he has to turn around.  Their eyes catch and Blaine nods his acknowledgement before the other man can pretend not to see him.

            ‘Kurt!’  Doug’s over-enthusiastic shout thankfully does not draw too much attention, but does effectively glue Blaine to the spot and forces Kurt to join them.

            ‘I was just coming to get you…the second act-’

            ‘-Thanks, Kurt.  I know.  Was just about to head back but look who I found!’  Doug takes Blaine’s shoulders in his giant hands and squeezes.  Blaine tries desperately not to flinch.

            ‘I can see, Doug.  Thanks.  Blaine and I see plenty of each other at the moment during rehearsals at NYADA.  We really should be heading back to our seats, Doug, and Blaine should get back to his box, fiancé, and sponsor.  You know Rachel will literally kill us if she doesn’t see us in the crowd – she needs us.  Especially after Sue walked out.’

Blaine really should have taken Kurt’s cue – Kurt gave him the perfect out to leave, but he cannot stop himself.

            ‘Sue?  Sue Sylvester?’ 

            ‘Yes…she’s taken it upon herself to, once again, ruin everything she can so-’

            ‘- Doug, could you give Kurt and I a moment, here?  Won’t be long - wouldn’t want him to miss a single note.’  Blaine cuts in.

Doug, who had been unsure where to even look a moment before, smiles gratefully before making his way back to the Stalls.  Blaine places his hand firmly on Kurt’s elbow, but Kurt makes no move to follow the other man.

The silence stretches out as the few remaining audience members scuttle to retake their seats, and Blaine takes the moment granted him to regroup.

 

-+-

 

_Kurt had shown up to their first rehearsal precisely on time.  In fact, he had attempted to beat Blaine to the rehearsal room, but his combat class had overrun and he had not had time to even grab a shower or change before they had been due to begin.  The result was that Kurt was too warm, sticky with drying perspiration, and not in the best mood._

_He had taken Blaine’s breath away._

_Kurt had been overly formal and business-like in his manner – but his dishevelled and frankly debauched appearance clashed dramatically with the front he placed before himself like a shield.  Blaine masked his confusion and frustration by attempting to out-professional Kurt, and the rehearsal had ended on decidedly cold and unsatisfying terms._

_The second rehearsal had been no better with Kurt declaring Blaine to be “embarrassingly out of practice” and Blaine retorting that Kurt was still “a little pitchy”.  The third was decidedly worse.  Sure, truth be told, there were moments during their rehearsals where they sounded fantastic together – but Blaine had already_ known _that.  He had no idea what he had hoped for when he had chosen Kurt to be his duet partner, but it was not_ this _._

_June had not pulled any punches with Blaine after sitting in on their fourth rehearsal, and had told him in no uncertain terms that if he disappointed her, or embarrassed her in any way, she would pull her patronage of him.  He would lose the showcase she had promised him.  He would lose the only thing he presently had keeping him sane; his future, because that is what June had become for him.  June was the spotlight in his darkness.  June was his key to making everything right again – she was his ticket to a career, his ticket to independence…_

_When June had presented Blaine with the two tickets and the invitation to join her in her private box for the opening night of_ Funny Girl _, Blaine had been unable to refuse.  Was this another test?  She must have known that Kurt would be there, supporting his friend – that is, after all what friends_ do _is it not?  In the end he had had no choice – it was Douglas who accepted on their behalf.  Douglas had seemed oddly keen on attending the show, and deep down, Blaine knew that it was just an excuse to do something together for a change, so how could he refuse?_

 

-+-

 

            ‘What do you want, Blaine?’

            ‘Kurt…I…’  He cannot help glancing towards the bar at once desperate for a glass of water and a diversion.  Unable to find one, and painfully aware that Kurt had begun to tap his foot, Blaine allowed his vision to clear and settled his gaze firmly upon the man before him.  Kurt’s lapel was crooked and Blaine smoothed it before he even processed that his hand was moving.  ‘I wanted to apologise.’

            ‘You wanted to apologise?  Apologise?  Really?!’  Kurt’s hand slaps Blaine’s away as he takes a trembling step forwards into Blaine’s space.  ‘What exactly did you want to apologise for, Blaine?  And why _now_?  We’ve spent _hours_ in the same room together over the past few weeks.  _Hours_ , Blaine.  You’ve had every moment you could possibly have wanted to talk to me, but –’

            ‘- Just stop.  For once, Kurt, just listen alright?’

The other man raises an eyebrow and snaps his jaw firmly shut in challenge.  Blaine squares his shoulders and takes a breath.  Then another.  Kurt’s eyes are frozen daggers, his pupils jagged puddles of inky venom.  Blaine stops thinking; he takes Kurt’s hand and turns, leading him away from the eyes of the bar staff and their inevitable gossip.  He tells himself it is as much for Kurt’s protection as his own.

They are in a quiet, dark stairwell before Blaine realises that Kurt actually came with him.  He takes that as reassurance of a kind – Kurt at least cares enough to hear him out.

            ‘I chose you because you are the best.  I need you to know that.’  Blaine’s voice is steady if hushed, but he does not risk a look at the other man for fear that he will somehow vanish like a fae or a wisp.  He pauses.  His breath reverberates in the echoing silence of the stairwell.

            ‘I know that.’  Kurt’s voice is strangely soft as if he were crying.  Blaine instinctively risks a glance and finds Kurt’s cheeks pale, but dry. 

            ‘Good.’  Blaine swallows harshly against his parched throat.  ‘You should…  I…  She doesn’t like you.’

            ‘Your almighty benefactor?  I had noticed - I’m not blind, or deaf for that matter.  Is this the part where you tell me you’ve decided to choose someone else, Blaine?  Because we’ve done this dance I know how it ends so just say it; tell me and be done with it so I can go back to my seat and watch my best friend’s dreams come true on her opening night.’  The venom in Kurt’s words twist his mouth, and Blaine needs to take it all away.

            ‘That’s what you think of me?’

            ‘Excuse me?’  Kurt’s eyes widen a little, and his pink lips part in confusion.

            ‘You think so little of me?’

            ‘What do you want from me?  You’re making no sense.  You drag me away into some dingy back-corridor to talk – so talk.  June doesn’t like me so you’re replacing me.  Again.  Am I right?’

            ‘No, Kurt.  God, no.  I…there _is_ no replacement for you.’

            ‘Excuse me while I hold my sides together from laughing so hard.’

            ‘I know I’ve messed up, alright.  I’m one giant fuck-up and there’s only one thing in my life that I am certain of right now and that it is our duet will be perfect.’

            ‘But June –’

            ‘I told June I’m singing with you.  That’s it.  There’s nothing more to that.  That’s not what I needed to…  I am losing my mind.  I feel like I…  Just listen, please?’

There must have been something in the pitch of his voice or the tone because suddenly the pain and confusion clears from Kurt’s eyes like a tidal mist, and the twin glasz orbs are fixed on him with concern.

            ‘Have you been drinking?’

            ‘Wine.  One glass.  This is…  That’s nothing to do with anything –‘

            ‘-Don’t think I didn’t notice you eyeing the bar back there…  How much are you drinking, Blaine?’

            ‘Dammit, Kurt!  Would you just _stop_!  Stop pretending to care.  Stop it!’  His shout echoes around the fire exit like an unkindness of screaming ravens, but it is the shocked silence of Kurt’s held breath that deafens Blaine.  ‘Kurt, what I did to you…it was unforgivable, but you offered me your forgiveness anyway, and I…I poison everything I touch.  Bas told me I was self-destructive.  That I actively sabotage everything around me until it is all…  I was a mess when you left.  I am still a mess.  But I am so grateful you left, Kurt.  I was too dependent on you.  I know that now.  I…  I look at you – at who you’re becoming in New York – this _man_ – and I know that you are better off without me.  You don’t need me, Kurt.  Not like I needed you.  I think you did need me, once…but… Not anymore.  You don’t need a June to help you get where you are going because you can get there by yourself.  The whole world will see just how amazing you are without someone shining a spotlight on you, don’t you see that?  You don’t need me….  But he does.

‘Douglas needs me, Kurt.  I need him.  I…  I…don’t deserve him.  I know that.  I certainly don’t deserve your help or your time, not after…but I would like your help, Kurt.  I need your help.  I know I have no right to ask this of you…but I think the duet could really work…  I miss being your friend, Kurt.  I…’

            ‘Stop, please…’  Blaine glances up through clumped lashes as Kurt’s thumb brushes a burning tear away across his cheekbone.  Kurt’s eyes are red but his voice is steady and Blaine marvels at the man before him.  Cold fingers grip Blaine’s face and Kurt’s words are so soft that Blaine fears any movement may break him.  ‘Blaine, I need you to answer me truthfully and honestly, alright?  Can you do that?  I _need_ to know why.  I need to know why you chose him over me, and don’t give me any bullshit about not having anyone else, or him needing you more, because…  Just tell me?  Did you stop loving me?’

            ‘I’ve never loved anyone more, Kurt.’

            ‘Then why?  Please tell me why.’ 

            ‘I do love him, Kurt.  Not like us, never like us, but… he loves me -’  Kurt drops his hands in frustration but does not step away. 

            ‘-You know I love you!  I love you so much it hurts.  I can’t sleep, Blaine.  I can’t concentrate anymore; you are driving me insane.  As soon as I think that I can move on…as soon as I find myself there you are on another staircase offering to take my hand again and I can’t…I…  I promised Dad that I’d tell you the truth.  The whole truth – and I thought I made myself clear, but apparently I wasn’t clear enough because you are marry…you are wearing a ridiculously expensive ring.  So here it is: I love you.  I want you back.  In a perfect world you would just kiss me and all our troubles would melt away but this is reality and it is ugly and complicated.  I know that.  But I want to hear it from you.  I need to hear it from you…because if the answer is “yes” I don’t think I can see you again.  I won’t be able to, Blaine.  And I really hope you understand what I am saying here.’  He takes a breath.  ‘Are you going to marry Douglas?’

            ‘I thought I was.’

            ‘”Yes” or “No”, Blaine – this is primary school stuff here.’

            ‘I don’t know, Kurt!  Tell me something while we’re being open and honest: you say you love me.  There’s nothing left to love.  What is it that you love?  You put me on a pedestal and expected me to live up to that perfect vision of the Dapper Private School Boy who Saved You!  Guess what – I’m not him.  I’m not…  There’s nothing left-’

            ‘-You honestly believe that don’t you.  What happened, Blaine?  What happened to the boy from Dalton who took my hand?  He certainly wasn’t perfect but I loved him.  I still love him.  Where did he go because he’s not here right now!’

            ‘He grew up!’

            ‘So flunking out, shunning all the people who care about you, drinking, and doing _drugs_ is growing up!  _That’s_ where I’ve been going wrong!  Because, I thought…I thought that growing up was taking responsibility for your own actions and the impact that they have on other people.  I thought it was being true to yourself –’

            ‘-That’s not fair, Kurt.  You have _no idea_ what it was like!  You-’

            ‘-You’re not denying it though are you?  At least for once you’re not lying or trying to run away from the truth.  Did you know Miss D is in the hospital?  Yes, she took whatever it was that you took…  She has…She needs a new kidney, Blaine.  Elliot’s a mess.  She could…she could die.  That could have been you!  You could have died!-’ 

            ‘-Like you you mean!  Do you have even a clue of what that did to me, Kurt?  Hearing you’d been beaten?  Listening to Adrian list every one of your injuries?  I wanted it to be me.  I would have given _anything_ for it to have been.  I close my eyes sometimes and all I can see are your tears.  I did that to you, don’t you understand?  I am poison-’

            ‘-Stop it!’

They are both panting; the sound scrapes along naked breezeblock walls.  Kurt’s colour is high in his cheeks, his lips parted, eyes narrowed and furious.  Blaine rolls his head back against the wall behind him and closes his eyes against the spectre before him.  It feels like an age – he can almost imagine himself away – perhaps at the seaside listening to the waves lap against the shore, not stood in a dingy fire escape of a theatre submerged in the echoes of thundering furious breath.

            ‘What happens now?’  Kurt’s voice is level and something in it opens Blaine’s eyes for him.  His runs his palms across the rough surface behind him, scrabbling for purchase.

            ‘I really wish I knew.’

            ‘She’s going to kill me.’  Kurt glances at his wristwatch and grimaces.

            ‘I’m s-’

            ‘-Don’t.  Just, don’t.’

Blaine watches as Kurt slides to sit heavily on a scuffed metal step.  Kurt’s damp lashes graze the apples of his cheeks as he stares at his shoes, but makes no movement to leave.  Blaine knows he should feel awful for making Kurt miss the second act, but he cannot summon the energy within himself to care.  June will be furious with him, Douglas will be worried…  Blaine finds himself with his back to the wall across from Kurt on the floor.  He stretches a foot out and touches his immaculate shoe to the tip of one of Kurt’s in some twisted gesture of solidarity, or defeat – he has no idea which.  The other man glances across at him, and Blaine finds that he does know something.  One thing to be precise:

            ‘I love you, Kurt Hummel.  I have always loved you, and I think I always will.’

 

-+-

 

            ‘I was awful wasn’t I?’

Doug had been bombarded the second he had entered the dressing room.  After trying at least six times to reassure Rachel (“you were fantastic”, “don’t pay any mind to Coach Sue”, “Kurt didn’t mean to upset you – he…something came up!”) he subconsciously takes a step back physically (and mentally) before turning to look helplessly at the rest of the small group of friends. 

Santana shoots him a tired look before stepping forwards with an overly dramatic roll of her eyes, ultimately forcing the pacing, dressing-gown-wearing brunette to sit down.

            ‘Listen, Berry, and listen good because this is the first and last time I’m going to say this: you were amazing up there.  The critics are going to be raving tomorrow in the papers and we’re all in awe of your greatness.  Got it?  Now stop fretting over the ridiculousness that is Sue Sylvester – she just wanted to get under your greasy skin (behold her success by the way).’

            ‘But Kurt -!’

            ‘-I’m sure whatever happened to Hummel – it was important.  There’s _no_ _way_ he’d have missed the fruition of months of treading softly around Diva Berry for _anything_.’

            ‘But -’

            ‘-No more ‘but’s!  We’re going out.  Up.  Come on get changed!’

            ‘Kurt –’

            ‘-is a grown man who I will personally interrogate later, alright?  We are going to celebrate you, and for once you have some man candy on your arm who doesn’t make me want to take an immediate sponge-bath in bleach.  You get to win, Berry.  Enjoy it!’

 

-+-

 

            ‘I’ve tried calling him…’

Douglas’ voice is pinched, his eyebrows creased – he seems, to June, to have aged demonstrably since they had first taken their seats that evening.  She shrugs her shoulders and offers some words she hopes are suitable before taking Aimee’s hand and asking her to be a “sweet girl” and ask the ushers (and the bar staff) whether they had any inkling of where Blaine had disappeared to.

            ‘People don’t just vanish, Douglas.  I’m sure it’s nothing.’

            ‘He’s been so focused recently…did I miss something?  I thought-’

            ‘Well, it was a bit of a bore – perhaps he went to get some fresh air?’ 

‘He’s not been sleeping…and he has been working very hard on the NYADA dedication…’

‘Exactly.  Now, I suggest you go back to that lovely place of yours and wait for him there.  He’ll show up, Douglas.  They always do.  My second husband was always prone to going for “walks” – came back smelling like Blaine does too.  That is something you should be concerned about, if anything.  He’s drinking too much.  _I_ never thought I’d say that but that’s the fact of the matter.  He’s got talent, and he’s going to make us both proud, but you need to intervene now or it will only get worse; mark my words.  Now – home with you.  I need to have a chat to Aimee about that next production she kept going on about.  I know the director – now he is a philanderer if ever I saw one.  She’s much better off waiting another month until I can set up Blaine’s showcase.  I see a bright future for the two of them in a musical number….’

 

-+-

 

            Douglas prowls from kitchen to study, bedroom to music room.  He does not find any secret stashes or any empty bottles, and, though a relief in some respects, he knows that in a way June is still right.  The drinking, the drugs, Benedict Charles – they are all connected, he is certain of that.  He fists his fingers through his hair and finally sinks into the buttery leather of his favourite chair in the study.  Before him lie designs and sketches – fragments of ideas taking life slowly – white lines on blue paper.  He propels them from his sight.

What had changed?  What had happened in the interval that had stopped Blaine from returning?  What had he missed?

He missed months of signals from Adrian only to return home one day to find all trace of the other man gone…  Was he headed down the same path again?  He had given Blaine everything.  Blaine could want for nothing…  What could have happened?

Douglas’ treacherous mind supplies.  But that could not be.  Yes, they were performing together in a couple of weeks but according to June the chemistry was all wrong…  He knows June’s kind well – she would prefer Blaine to have chosen a female duet partner – even though rumours were that her third husband had been gay.  A female duet partner would help Blaine to pass…but surely that was no longer necessary?  He had said as much to June; his mother’s friend had simply smiled tightly and acquiesced, focusing her complaints instead on the obvious tension between the two young men.  Had he missed something?  Surely not.  Blaine loved him.  They were engaged.  These were _facts_.

He raises and stalks towards the kitchen.  Whatever _this_ was all about they needed to have it out regardless of his abhorrence of conflict.  That is what couples do in healthy relationships after all?

Trading his usual scotch glass for a mug (perhaps he too has been a bad influence?) he sets about making coffee.  The mundane task is oddly comforting and he finds himself musing at the first time Blaine had appeared, barefoot and frozen, in his apartment.  He had made coffee then too – little rituals of normality, comfort, and peace.

The caffeine is anything but soothing, however.  He paces back to settle in his study and, after depositing his mug on the leather-topped desk, stoops to pick up the blue-prints, reorders them, then places them in a neat pile before settling back into his chair to once again wait for Blaine. 

 

-+-

 


End file.
